Reason to Live - Reason to Fight
by nurzubesuch
Summary: After being saved from suicide by a mysterious woman, Javert's and Valjean's lives get entangled yet again, becoming part of history against their will. Because there's more behind the barricades than just some angry men. Sometimes things are not quite what they seem to be.
1. Darkness

**Dear reader. In absense of a better word, I call myself a visitor to this fandom, and I apologize in advance for every mistake I might make, concerning facts about Les Miserables, as well as language, for I am not originally English speaking. My mind recently got taken hostage by this story you are about to read, and if my posting it here, gives one or two of you a good read, I consider my time well used. In any case, I believe this story wanted to be told.  
**

**Now I am telling it.**

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine.**

* * *

**Darkness**

The shock in Javert´s heart was far too big, as he watched this man, this convict, the criminal that he´d hunted for all these years, walk away from him. One step, then two. Three. Farther and farther away from him, and he knew that soon he´d be gone, out of reach for his musket to shoot him, the way he´d promised him he´d do.

He should. He had to. This man was a criminal. A wanted fugitive. It was Javert ´s duty, before God and men, to arrest this man. But in the end he just stood there and let him walk away. To bring this young man he had on his back to a hospital. Just like he´d brought this prostitute to a hospital, so many years ago. Back then, when he´d carried another name.

Always the do gooder, always the benefactor. Always on the run. So many times. So many times he´d proven himself a liar, a cheater, a criminal before the Lord. So many times he had evaded him, Javert. And now, now that he finally had him … he let him go. What on earth had gotten into him?

He stared down on the gun in his hand, and for a few heartbeats his fingers tried to hold onto it. But his fingers were weak, just as his heart, his entire soul. He had to be weak or he would have never let it come so far. The gun fell, just as his whole world was falling, and the hollow plop it made when it dropped into the dirt of the sewers, echoed strangely from the filthy walls all around him.

What had just happened? How had he gotten here? And why was everything so dark all around him?

Javert´s feet started to move, all on their own, carrying him away, like a sleepwalker trying to escape a dream that was too terrifying for words, too horrible to even name it. In this moment Javert, police inspector of Paris, felt a fear creeping in his heart, far worse than any fear for his life he might have felt, a day earlier at the battle of the barricades.

**...**

Jean Valjean, ex prisoner, life long fugitive, one time mayor and foster father of an orphaned child, had no idea how long he walked, this half dead boy on his back, and the assumption of the inspector still aiming his gun at him. But he walked, step after step, stumbling more than once. And at some point he just knew that Javert was gone. That the inspector was no longer behind him. No longer threatening to shoot him if he made only one more step. That he indeed had let him go.

And maybe that was the greatest miracle of it all. Not that they´d both survived the battle at the barricades. Not that he´d managed it to carry Marius out, through the sewers for a whole day. Not that he was still able to walk and carry this boy. But the fact that this uncompromising man with a heart of stone, the man that had dedicated his life to find him and bring him back to jail, had finally seen that there was more to life than law and duty. That saving this one man, the way Valjean was trying it now, was worth to make some compromises. To sacrifice some things in life. Like a rigid view of things such as life and duty. Like a daughter that finally choose to give her love to another man. A boy, half dead, gone soon if he wasn´t fast enough.

He had no idea how he made it to the boy´s home, the mansion of his grandfather. The baron surely would be asleep – if he´d found any sleep at all since those battles had started – but Valjean saw lights so at least some servants had to be awake. And sure enough when he knocked, a man and a woman opened, eyes wide when they saw him. He must look like a monster to them, covered in dirt and filth from top till bottom, the unconscious boy over his shoulder, his eyes probably burning like fire. In this moment Jean Valjean probably looked more like the prisoner he once was, than ever.

"Please." he gasped, sliding the boy off his back. "It´s the baron´s grandson. He needs help. Quick."

For a moment the two servants were uncertain, looking at him as if he´d talked another language. But then the man knelt down, inspecting the boy, finally recognizing him.

"It´s Marius." he cried, as if Valjean hadn´t already told them. "Dear god, go and call for a doctor."

The woman was gone instantly, probably glad to get away from this stinking old man that had delivered the half dead grandson of their master. Some more servants came, to help and carry Marius inside. And for a moment Valjean felt the urge to follow. To sit down and rest, only for a moment.

But he knew that if he did this, he would fall asleep and not wake up before the morning. And the way he looked and smelled right now, he wouldn´t want to do this to these people. Besides, the way they glanced at him, with so much fear, disregarding the fact that he´d just brought and saved the baron´s grandson, he felt that coming inside was nothing they would lightly offer.

And so he didn´t say a word, didn´t even try to speak, and turned around, to walk away. He needed to get home. His own home. Before he´d have to leave it forever. Surely Javert wouldn´t wait too long to come and get him at last.

**...**

It was dark. Still. It wouldn´t get better. Javert could not remember how long it had been since he´d broken his oath, and let the criminal go. Since he´d last seen him, walking away, and he´d done nothing. Since he´d been confronted with his own weakness and incapability to keep up his integrity. There was a law and the law spoke truth. Always. There was a man and this man had broken the law. Repeatedly. The law was speaking its sentence. Punishment. It was the only way. But the man was different. So different from what Javert had known all his life.

He was a criminal. But he was not bad. He´d seen him save people, again and again, he´d seen him make sacrifices, he´d seen him show kindness and even … mercy. He´d saved his life. Spared it when everyone else would have killed him, to be finally rid of this danger that Javert was. Even more, he´d offered him himself. To surrender. Had given him his address. To what? Come there and arrest him, after he´d altruistically saved this young man, after he´d saved him, Javert?

He was a criminal, a fugitive. How could a criminal be good like this? It didn´t work. It couldn´t be. And still it was. Javert could not compute. Not anymore.

His soul was torn, from the inside, his whole life as he had known it. Could things like that be true? It couldn´t. It mustn´t. None of this made sense. The simple truth of that was more than shattering. It was devastating.

He had no idea how he´d gotten to this point. But now, that he was standing here, on the Pont-au-Change, the water gushing beneath him, he tried to look up, to the stars, to ask, beg for some kind of relief. Some reassurance, that some things were still the same as they had been before this day.

But the stars were black, heavy clouds covering them, and nothing on earth or heaven was left for him to turn to. In this moment the darkness of the depth before him seemed so inviting, it was almost tearing him apart.

**...**

Staying awake was the hardest thing in the world, even while he undressed, peeling out of these dirty clothes, hard by now from all the filth. Even while he washed and dressed again. He managed it to make himself a bread to eat, before he would go out again. Somehow he managed all this without waking Cosette. She should not see what he had been through. And she should not wake up from the inspector knocking down their door, when he came at last to take him in.

That was the only thing that kept him going. That kept him from falling into his bed and sleep till morning. His daughter should not have to see how he got arrested, dragged out of their home in the middle of the night. There would be no way around of her learning about his past, now that Javert knew his home, now that he had promised him to surrender. But at least Cosette wouldn´t have to witness him being dragged out into the night. At least he would have the chance to tell her when it was light, in a calm tone, that could at least create the illusion that everything could be all right again.

After an hour of struggling against his own tiredness, Jean Valjean felt as if he was able to keep going. He stepped out into the night, and started walking. He made his way, not too fast but steadily, through the streets, toward the station of police. The one he knew was in Javert´s precinct.

Most likely the inspector was already waiting there for him. Impatiently, as always.

Jean Valjean chuckled. Maybe it was good this way. He´d been running for so long, lived under false names, not even his own daughter knew who he really was. Maybe it was time to stop all this. He was tired of running. And the fact that it should be Javert, from all the people in the world, his old warden from prison days, that should arrest him at last, was somehow poetic. Maybe there _were_ things in this world that were just meant to be.

Surely he would wait for him, right at the door. The chains already in hand, ready to put them on him. Yes, Valjean could see that clear as daylight.

The more surprised was he to learn that Javert was not there, when he reached the precinct. Only a young man was there, a sergeant, sitting behind a desk. He barely looked up when Valjean entered.

"Pardoner moi, Monsieur." Valjean spoke carefully. "I … I am looking for inspector Javert. He should be expecting me."

The young man only looked at him, strangely and shook his head. "Javert won´t be expecting anyone anymore." he said. "At least not here."

For a moment Valjean was just startled. "Why that?"

"He resigned." was the brief impersonal answer. "Only an hour ago."

Valjean was shocked, so much he barely heard the next question of the man before him.

"Can anyone else help you with your concern?"

The former convict looked up, startled, and shook his head. "No, I …" he had to clear his throat.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. It was only … between me and the inspector." Valjean quickly bowed his head at the man. "Have thanks."

With that he left. But when his feet touched the ground before the door, he instantly froze. What had just happened? Javert resigned? How strange of an idea. How? Why should he do that? He´d always been so dedicated. And now that he finally had the chance to arrest him …

Valjean started walking again, not really noticing that he was moving at all. And not really paying attention to where he steps might lead him. His whole mind was clouded with this shock. The shock that maybe, he would be free after all.

**...**

Javert had no idea how long he´d been standing there, on this parapet, his mind swirling back and forth between right and wrong, between what could be and what could not. Must not. There was no solution. The two extremes annihilated each other inside his mind, to a point of self destruct. And by now the inspector felt dizzy. So unbelievable weak. And desperate. He´d known right from wrong all his life. And now? He couldn´t do it. Not like this. Not anymore. Please, he begged in silence. Just let it end. I can´t …

A gasp, so faint he barely heard it over the roar of the water, and then someone cried out.

"No."

Hurried steps approached him, and he swirled around, more by instinct, to look over his shoulder. The young woman stopped dead in her tracks as his eyes fell upon her. She was dressed in simple clothing, old and used. In her hand she was carrying a basket, one that she clutched now, as her gaze showed great fear. As if she was staring at a monster.

Only she´d run towards this monster, not away from it.

Her gaze changed, from worry to confusion, probably on purpose, and the next thing Javert saw was her glancing at him, as if she wasn´t sure what she was seeing. As if it was not all that uncommon to see a man standing on a parapet in the middle of the night.

"W … What are you doing?" she asked as if she really didn´t know. But then she waved her hand for him, because of course she knew. "C … Come down there." she told him. "Seriously. You … you don´t have to do this."

Javert shook his head as if to get rid of an irritating thought. Her unexpected entrance had distracted him, only for a moment.

"Leave me alone." he told her and she halted, as if unsure. Her eyes blinked several times as she tried to collect herself.

"What´s your name?" she asked him.

When he glanced at her she narrowed her eyes. "No, wait I … I know you. You´re this inspector. Ch … Chever? You´re a police officer."

Javert felt a stitch of pain in his chest at her words. "I used to be."

He could see in her face that she was startled by the tone he´d used. But that didn´t keep her from continuing.

"All right." she said. "Listen. I have no idea what happened, and why you think that this …" She pointed at the void. "… is the only way out but … I assure you there is another way."

As she looked at him expectantly, a chuckle escaped her. As if she tried to beg him, to finally throw the punchline of this strange joke. But a joke it had to be. Right, Monsieur?

"You have no idea what you´re talking about, woman."

Her nervous smile vanished, as if he´d just hurt her with his words. But why on earth should he apologize for that? He was about to die for worse sins than that.

The young woman cast down her eyes, only for a moment, before she looked up again, a tiny smile in her eyes yet again.

"Says the one that´s standing on a bridge´s parapet." she replied, as if there was nothing more silly in this world than this. Javert felt his heart boil with heat.

"Just leave me."

"No." she stated and this time her tone was strong. "I can´t."

"Then I hope you´re ready to watch."

"Wait!"

Her cry made him flinch, only for a moment, and he managed it just in time to keep his balance.

"In God´s name. Man."

Again she made him flinch, at the name of God this time.

"Get back down here." she cried, more desperate now. "Things are not as bad as they might seem."

Javert couldn´t believe it himself but he actually chuckled. "How do _you_ want to know?"

"I just know." she told him, her eyes as fiery as he only knew it from soldiers. And some revolting boys he´d met not that long ago. "I know." she repeated, more emphasizing, seeing the change in his gaze. "It´s always that way." And she closed her eyes for a moment, to calm herself. "I … know … things probably seem … devastating right now. It sure does or you wouldn´t be here. But you know …" And at this she laughed all the sudden, nervously, looking about as if she had no idea where she was anymore. "What time is it anyway?" she asked. "Way past midnight, definitely. Wouldn´t you say so?"

Javert frowned, irritated by this change of subject. Her gaze had changed from desperate to something gentler. And her smile, it was so warm.

"It´s way too late for something like that." she told him.

God, her smile. It was so irritatingly sweet.

"You know …" she started again. "Some really smart men – scholars – they say … that one really shouldn´t make life altering decisions at an ungodly hour like this. Because at this hour the mind swirls towards the darkness, so much more than it does in daylight. It´s the devil´s way of trying to lure us into his realm. You mustn´t fall for this, inspector."

Her eyes were open, so open, that Javert had no chance to avoid this gaze. No matter how hard he wanted to try. Instead he found himself frozen to that gaze, as if she´d put a spell on him that kept him from looking away.

"Who are you?" he asked, and she actually smiled, once again this sweet smile that irritated him so much.

"My name is Marianne." she introduced herself. "Marianne Póche." And with a smile she reaching out a hand. "Nice to meet you."

Javert only frowned warily at her hand. As if it was a snake that could bite him if he came too close.

"Please." she spoke. "Just come down there. Things will get better, you´ll see. In the morning, when it is light again."

And those were the words that brought it all back to him. The desperation, the impossibility of it all, the darkness of the world.

"There is no light." he let her in on this little secret. "Not anymore."

"Yes, there is." she insisted. "It will be. You´ll see. But only when you get down here." He could hear her voice break with fear. "Please." she almost sobbed. "Every night ends. How can you see the light again, if you don´t wait for the dawn? Don´t take this chance away from you."

She was audibly fighting her tears now. And something about this made Javert falter in his decision to jump.

"Please." she begged. "Don´t make me go home, knowing that I failed you."

Those last words of her finally stroke him, deep inside, on a place he couldn´t quite name himself. But it made him turn around to her. Mostly because it scared him, so much, to feel how much she´d just hit him.

She smiled at him, still so scared herself, and waved her hand, asking, begging him. "Please. You´re still needed, inspector. Please."

For a moment, how long exactly Javert didn´t know himself, she´d started to convince him. But there was something about this last sentence that made him wary once again. Still needed? He?

"How do _you_ want to know?" he asked, and even he was scared by the weak tone of his voice. How broken he sounded, even to himself.

But to her it seemed to inspire new hope.

"I´ll prove it to you." she promised and not even his wary gaze could make her new gained confidence tremble. She waved her hand, invitingly, almost nonchalantly. "Come." she said. "Just … take a step in my direction. It´s not that hard."

Javert could only shake his head, at this predicament. "How is it that you saints always find me?"

It was almost a relief to see her frown, in uncertainty.

"I´m … not a saint." she stammered. "I´m just … someone that can´t just walk away."

This time when their gazes met, they caught and held at last. She was begging him with her eyes. "Please, just … come down here. Please."

Javert didn´t know what to do. Her pleads were just so urgent, so calling, it was hard to ignore her. On the other hand, it was probably hard to ignore anyone who disturbed the quiet when one tried to kill himself in peace. He looked down into the water, trying to think, to reconsider.

"Inspector!" she cried out, demanding, as if she was an officer who berated an inferior. And somehow that tone worked.

He looked back at her, and his turn about was just a little too fast. His foot already just at the edge of the parapet slipped, just a bit, but it was enough to make him sway, losing his balance. Instinctively he tried to regain it, but he failed. The void seemed to reach for him, not willing to give up its prey.

Marianne cried out and jumped forward, grabbing his hand out of the air. One quick pull and he slipped, down to her, to saver ground.

His momentum was too fast, it made her sway as well, along with him. Her hands reached out, to search for grip, steadying her balance on his body, until at last they both stopped swaying. Her exhale was so full of relieve, the grip of her hands too tight, he almost felt like being robbed. As if she´d just taken the greatest chance of his life away from him, in a totally selfish manner. And as their gazes met again, she of course could see all this.

There was a time, when men had flinched under his stare. When women had crouched and grown men had started to cry when he had looked at them like this. But this woman, only looked at him, so calm, as if she knew everything. Absolutely everything.

"Wait until morning." she spoke, collected. "Please. Just … a few more hours. You´ll see it looks better then."

Javert shook his head, fuming inside. But he managed it to hold it back. Yelling at her now would do no good.

"Please." her honest plead made him suppress his anger.

"Why do you even care?" he rasped. "For all I care I would have arrested you with no mercy at all, had I ever caught you doing something against the law."

His words as vicious as they had been meant, brought a smirk to her lips. "Well, then I am glad you never did catch me at this." she stated. "Cause had I been in prison … I couldn´t have caught you just now. Could I?"

He didn´t answer but she didn´t seem to expect a response anyway. She just kept smiling, this irritating smile of hers, and pointed with her head. "Come with me." she said.

Javert narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

She only shrugged. "It´s late. And I still have some way to go." she raised her elbow, strangely inviting him. "Walk me, would you? For protection?"

Javert snorted, but when she turned around, to pick up her basked, where she had dropped it earlier, there was something strange about the gesture, something that kept him from declining. She didn´t move away, only looked at him over her shoulder, waiting for him to join her. And eventually, for a reason that evaded him completely, he found himself taking her arm, at last, and started walking, when she did.

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**I will be thankful for every note that tells me what you people think. There is still a lot more to come. **

**Until then I say thanks for reading.**


	2. To Stay Alive

**To Stay Alive**

The sound of their footsteps echoed in the empty streets, of the nightly Paris. Javert had no idea how long they´d been walking like that but he´d long abandoned the try to scold himself an idiot. Why he´d allowed this woman to distract him was beyond him, but somehow it had happened. And instead of drifting away into the nothing, he was forced to keep walking, and circling around his own thoughts over and over again. Why? Why did she have to do that to him?

"I was with a friend of mine." she started speaking, all the sudden, almost nonchalantly, and Javert flinched at the unexpected sound of her voice. She didn´t seem to notice. "We forgot the time, talking." she told him and shook her head. "This revolt just wouldn´t let us go. Horrible, wasn´t it?"

Javert couldn´t turn his head to look at her. "Yeah." was all he managed, hollow and impersonal. And even though he didn´t look at her, he felt her eyes on him.

"You were there, weren´t you?" It was not a question. "I know. I´ve seen it in your eyes."

Something inside of him broke apart at this, and she did nothing but nod. "It´s all right, Chevert. It wasn´t your fault."

The way she said it, it almost sounded as if she knew, without a doubt, that this was true.

The former inspector swallowed. "The name´s Javert." he told her, lacking any other response.

When she looked up at him, there was a sheepish smile on her lips. "I´m sorry." she said, correcting her mistake. "Javert." After that she halted, very briefly. "You have a first name?" She asked.

He merely looked down on her, not giving a response. What difference would it make anyway? This was just ridiculous. He wouldn´t do this.

She just shrugged, not offended at all. "I guess Javert will do."

They walked another street, finally reaching a small house. She unlocked what was obviously the back door, revealing a small sitting room, complete with a stove and a sink. A very humble arrangement, just as one expected it from a woman of her rank.

She gently ushered him inside, not really leaving him a choice if he wanted to enter or not, telling him that she would make some tea.

While she busied herself in the tiny corner that was her kitchen, Javert´s feet automatically carried him to the table, to the chair. His tiredness probably had gained an own will over his body and mind and when he sat down, he felt the tension of these last two days in every muscle of his legs, his back, his entire torso. And oh god in his head. He only noticed how tired he really was, when there was suddenly a steaming cup before him.

"Drink." Marianne told him, gently but firm. "You´ll need it."

Javert regarded her, as she sat down beside him, a cup of her own in hand, carefully sipping, as if she expected him to do the same. And in his lack of any other option, he took the tea, for no other reason than to fill this awkward silence with something, even sipping tea was better than staring.

"Tell me what you know." he demanded after he´d set his cup down, the heat of the tea warming his brain almost too much, and for some reason this sentence brought a smirk to her lips. As if she had to bite back some sarcastic joke that was obviously waiting behind her closed lips. But his blank gaze told her, clearly, that this was not the time for jokes.

"I know … that there is always a way." she spoke, carefully, as if to make sure, he´d understand her. "That even though you feel as if the world comes crushing down on you … and everything you believed in, is gone and wiped out … even if you think you have no right or reason to keep living … there´s always a way."

"What way?"

She held his gaze, so open and fearless, even though he must look like a walking corpse. "That depends on you. I can´t tell you which way will be yours, for it is yours not mine. But I know that there is a way. You just need to be ready to find it."

Javert lowered his eyes, staring into an empty distance that wasn´t even there. "What if I can´t?" he heard himself ask.

And after a long time of silence, that felt like an eternity, she told him, very gentle: "You can. You´re strong. I can see that in your face. In the way you carry this uniform. Even now. You are a soldier. And a soldier fights. He keeps fighting no matter what. Isn´t that right, inspector?"

Javert flinched inwardly, once again. "Stop calling me that. I´m not an inspector anymore."

As he looked at her, she seemed startled, for the first time since they´d met. She frowned, uncertain, and closed her eyes, momentarily.

"I know, I won´t convince you about this, just like this." she spoke, quietly, her voice so faint it was almost only a whisper. "But you will keep doing your duty. Just as you always did. What happened, happened. No one can change that anymore. But just giving up, is not a solution."

Javert looked up, seeing how her eyes were not on him, but in the same distance he´d been gazing at before. And he realized, with dread, that she was barely talking to him any longer, but to herself. As if she´d been repeating this to herself more than just once. Like a mantra someone would repeat, over and over again, to keep himself from forgetting.

When she noticed what she was doing, she chuckled, shaking her head, in amusement over herself.

"I tell you something." she then said, and there was something so grave in her voice, behind that smiling face, that he couldn´t tear his eyes away, even if he´d tried. She said: "Sometimes staying alive and keeping up the fight is the braver decision, inspector. It takes a lot more. A _lot_ more … than to just shut down and die. Believe me I know."

Javert was speechless. What he saw in this woman´s eyes was breathtaking. A void much more horrible than the one she´d guided him away from.

"You …" he started but couldn´t finish. "You too w…"

"Do you believe in God, Monsieur?" she asked, before he could finish and he nodded, startled.

"And in fate?" This time she didn´t wait for his response. "I do." she told him. "I do believe that noting happens without a reason. And … the fact that I happened to pass that bridge … just when you were about to jump … that can´t be coincidence. I think God might still have something in store for you. I think you are not supposed to go just yet. Whatever you think you did wrong, you can make it right again."

Javert felt how the poison crept back into his heart, slowly, like acid. "I let a convict go." he spoke, almost snarled. "I let him run. I failed my duty. I failed to protect the people I once swore to serve. I failed to stop the bloodshed. The lives I wanted to save, were lost." he shook his head. "Too many. And my own life … I owe to a man that should be the guilty. But in the end everything was false. Everything went wrong. Things like that are not supposed to be. It isn´t right."

When she didn´t give a response he couldn´t stand this silence any longer, and searched her gaze. For a moment the quietness around him started to feel like an eternal emptiness, somewhere between this world and hell itself. He needed to make sure she was still there, that he was not the only human being left in this entire emptiness of the universe. But when he looked up, she was right there, still so calm, so easy in her sensuality, still smiling so gently.

"The world changes all the time, Javert." she said. "We might not always like it but it does. And we have to change with it."

He didn´t respond. He couldn´t. So she kept talking.

"There´s a lot of evil in this world. I know. But there is also good. And neither is easily recognized. What we think is right, seems wrong when the light shines on it from another angle."

He could see something glisten in her eyes, and he realized with fear that she was close to tears. Not for him. For herself. Because she really knew.

"I know." she spoke again, and shook her head, to pull it back. Her tears vanished, right back into her eyes, where they had come from. "But it isn´t the end." she stated, her voice much harder now. "It mustn´t be. We mustn´t give in to this kind of hate and devastation. We have to fight. In order to stay alive." She pointed at her heart. "In here." She pointed at her head. "And here."

Javert felt his heart race, in fear. How? How could she know all this? How could she see into his heart, where he hadn´t known how to see in all those years?

"Who are you?" he asked her once again and once again she smiled at him, so gently, like an angel.

"Just a friend." she spoke. "Who wants to help."

Javert just looked at her, and like a shadow that passed over him, his mind got foggy, clouding his surroundings, his entire world. She smiled a little more.

"You look tired." And with a gesture behind herself: "I have a bed for you. I think you need it more than I."

He tried to fight it for an instant, wary once again. But her eyes were just too kind to be suspicious.

She nodded at him. "It´s all right." When she got up, waving for him to follow, Javert shook his head.

"I won´t …"

But she would not even let him finish.

"Yes, you will. I insist."

**...**

"Papa!" Cosette´s voice, usually so soft and gentle, shrieked in his head, when she woke him up with her relieved cry.

Jean Valjean´s eyes shot open, and all he could think was: Where am I? Am I still at the barricades? Did they wound me and left me for death? Did Cosette come and find me, barely alive anymore?

But then something dropped beside him, making the cushions of his bed bop up for a moment, and he just knew that he was at home. The memory came back to him, and so did the pain, all over his body. Oh dear God.

"Papa, I was so worried." Cosette cried next to him. "Where have you been? You were gone for over a day, with no word, no note to tell me where you´d gone or when you´d be back. I heard of the fights. I was worried sick."

"Ah, Cosette." he managed, padding her hands, examining him with all the care and worry he loved so much about her. "Don´t you worry about me. You know me. I just … needed to get out."

"Out? For over a day? Papa, what is the matter? You were so urgent to leave for England and now … you disappear for a whole day … I don´t understand."

"Cosette." he managed a smile, while another memory came home to him. England. Yes, that had been his plan. Almost a lifetime ago. "Give me some time to get up, and … feed myself. Then we can talk."

For a moment, she looked as if she wanted to object. The expression in her eyes was so hard, he´d barely seen her like this. It almost scared him, to see his daughter, the light of his life, capable of such an expression. But then she cast her eyes down, and got up, to allow him some more space.

"I´ll tell Madame Toissaint to arrange some breakfast for us." she said, and for a moment her eyes remained on him, debating with herself if she really should let him have his way.

In the end she left without another word, and Jean Valjean, not known by that name by his own daughter, closed his eyes, burying his face in his hands. God, he was so tired.

**...**

Javert woke up, to the sounds of the kitchen. For a moment he was confused, disoriented. Where was he? Was he at home? This was not his bedroom. And there shouldn´t be any sounds coming from his kitchen.

He sat up, taking in his surroundings, and slowly, it all came back to him. The night before. The barricades. Jean Valjean. The Seine gushing beneath him, like a hungry animal. Marianne.

His gaze found the door, and with some effort he managed it to stand up, every muscle in his body moaning in pain. He was still wearing his uniform. He hadn´t had the strength to undress, when he´d dropped into this bed, that belonged to a strange woman. A woman he´d never seen or even heard of before last night. And still, she´d stopped on her way home, through empty and dark streets, with no protection from possible muggers or rapers, to help him and save his life. Why? Why would she do that?

When he left the bedroom, entering the kitchen, she looked up at him, smiling.

"Morning." she greeted, heartily. "How do you feel?" Without waiting for his response, she put down two plates, with bread and butter. "I bet you´re hungry."

Javert sat down, watching her carefully, how she arranged the rest of this spare but generous enough breakfast. There was nothing in her gestures that seemed in any way off, or unnatural. As if it was normal for her to have a strange guest like him, sleeping in her bed. Like a stone.

"Did you drug me with something?" he asked, recalling how fast he´d blacked out last night, and she glanced at him, smiling apologetically.

"I gave you something so you could sleep." she admitted, and he surprised himself when he didn´t even feel angry about this revelation. "It was barely necessary though." she told him then. "You were so exhausted …" After another moment she added, as if it was necessary to mention that: "I didn´t take your wallet."

Javert raised his brows, astound. "I didn´t carry one." he stated and she smiled, almost proud.

"See?" She pushed the plate towards him. "Eat. Physical strength is crucial after a traumatic experience."

Again he looked up at her. "Are you a doctor?"

"My father was pharmacist." she nodded. "In his second job. His first job was Official Hobby Doctor to everyone in the neighborhood." She gave a small chuckle. "I took over the pharmacy." She finished, pouring some coffee, one cup for him and one for herself. "Eat." she repeated, more emphasizing and got started on her own bread.

The healthy smell of the bread and the coffee suddenly brought back some memory of life, and Javert felt, strangely, how his mouth started to water. His first few hesitant bites became bigger soon, his body claiming the food to revive itself. It was strange. So strange after what he´d tried to do last night. After he was finished, she seemed to be satisfied with him.

Before he knew what was happening she´d started to clean off the table, busying herself at the sink.

"I need to open the pharmacy." she told him, only a minute later, and Javert woke up.

"I´ll leave." he murmured, hurriedly getting up.

"I didn´t say you have to." Marianne abandoned her sink. "I just …"

But this time it was him who wouldn´t let her finish. "I must." he insisted, trying to avoid her gaze. "It would be inappropriate to stay even longer."

Another one of her famous smiles spread on her lips. "How much more inappropriate can you get?" she asked. "You already slept here."

Something inside Javert tensed at her comment. He wouldn´t quite call it blushing but if he was honest he just knew no other word for it.

She pulled it back, noticing how uncomfortable he was. "I´m sorry." she apologized. "I just … didn´t want to throw you out. If that is how it felt."

"It didn´t." he assured her. "How could it?"

It was the only way he knew to say what he really wanted to say. A thank you was so far away from his character and personality, he couldn´t even remember to ever having spoken such words. But somehow she seemed to hear them anyway.

"I´ll pay you for the food." he promised, reaching for the door.

"You could stop by in the evening." she hurried to suggest. "It´s no big difference to pay for a breakfast or for breakfast and a dinner all in one."

Javert halted, regarding her face, so hopeful, so scared yet again, as if he saw her again on that bridge only last night. Too many emotions mixed in one face. Hope, fear, worry, begging for a sign of life. And all of this was directed at him. The former inspector had no idea what to do with this.

Eventually he nodded, hesitantly. "Maybe." was all he could muster. "I´ll let you know."

And with that he walked out. He needed to get away from here.

**...**

Cosette allowed him to eat, until he looked a little less pale, he figured. Until she was sure, he would not fall off his chair by pure exhaustion. That was as long as she could hold it back, this always present need of hers, for answers, and the truth.

"Now tell me, Papa." she demanded. "Where have you been? And why did you leave without a word to me? Or even a note."

"A note." Valjean repeated with a weary smile. His eyes met hers and he could see that she was guessing something. The fear was unmistakable. It almost tore him apart on the inside. His own daughter.

"I … _got_ a note." he told her at last. "I admit it would have been right to leave you one, before I left, but … this note that I got …" he shook his head as he took it out of his pocket, to show it to her. "Let´s just say that left me kind of … startled." He held it out for her and her fearful hesitation broke his heart. "It´s from Marius." he told her.

Her eyes went wide, in shock and worry, as she reached for the note at last, opening it, to read the dreadful words of a man that believed to die and never see his love again.

"You don´t have to worry, Cosette." Valjean told her, as he saw her paling. "He´s alive. He survived."

Her shock subsided, just a bit, to be replaced by simple pain and high confusion. "What happened? Please, Papa, I need to know."

He sighed, deeply, fighting back the urge to tell her, everything.

"I went out … after I read this. To find out … what I could. I … wasn´t allowed to get closer to the battles. The police wouldn´t let anyone through."

He guessed that was probably true, so it had to sound believable. In her momentary state, it was probably the farthest from her mind to doubt anything he said. He could see the tears in her eyes, as she covered her mouth with her hand, so heartbreaking. So innocent.

"I stayed …" he went on. "Wandered around. Tried to find out whatever I could." His mind was racing, trying to find the easiest way to tell her this lie, without giving too much space for questions. At last he settled with telling her: "Marius got wounded. He´s at his grandfather´s home now. That´s all I know."

She closed her eyes, the tears spilling out, running down her face at last. And seeing how much pain she felt, only by this briefest of descriptions, Valjean just didn´t have it in him anymore, to rebuke her for not being honest. For keeping this secret from him, about this boy she loved, as if he was a stranger. His little girl. His only reason to stay alive.

"Will he be all right?" she asked, between her breaths, fighting desperately for some composure.

And Jean Valjean had no strength left to smile at her, not anymore. "I don´t know." he said, and that was nothing but the truth.

**...**

There was a lot of military in the street. Military, not police. Javert had noticed the siege they´d put over the city, but it hadn´t been that much last night. It got worse. As if they were afraid the revolutionaries could still pop up from a shadow somewhere. As if they could come back from their graves to keep fighting them.

But that wouldn´t happen, they just had to know that. Everyone who´d been at those barricades had died there. They´d never left those places.

Javert suddenly had the strangest mental image in his mind. The young boys, he´d met in this fateful night, all of them who had died, standing on top of a huge barricade, still aiming their guns at not existing enemies, still waving their flags, still singing their songs of freedome and liberty, not realizing that they were already dead, and with them this dream of a new world they would see when morning came. A fight that would never end. An eternal barricade, that these poor souls would never be able to leave, forced to relive this violent night of their deaths over and over again. Purgatory in it´s cruelest form.

Javert closed his eyes, forcing the image away, and quickened his steps. He needed to get home. Off the street. These eyes on him, made him nervous, even the glances of the soldiers, from far away, seemed to bore into him. As if he was a criminal, like Valjean, on the run and in danger to be discovered.

Once again he had to force this idea away, out of his mind. Before it drove him into madness.

Finally his home. He hurried up the stairs, and practically threw himself against the door. It gave way, before he could even think of putting the key into the lock. And for a moment he was just startled. His police senses kicked in at once. There was a chair in the middle of the room, a rope hanging from the ceiling. And when he noticed a shadow in his back, he swirled around, by pure instinct, trying to avoid the attack.

Only he was still too weary from the fights of these last two days, and the blow he received left him dizzy, long enough for his attackers, to grab him, and drag him to the chair. Javert had no idea how he summoned the strength or the willpower to struggle, but somehow his instincts must have kicked in, faster than his brain. He raised his elbow, hit something, heard a grunt, and punched, randomly at the second man beside him.

It wasn´t enough. Not by a long shot. But it was enough to buy him some air, long enough to grab the rope and rip it off the ceiling. How he managed it to hit anything when he threw it was a mystery to him, for he hadn´t even had the time to aim properly. But when he looked again, the rope lay around the neck of one of his attackers. A second jerk of his wrist and the rest of the rope swung, catching the second man, as he tried to lunge for him. He pulled, knocking their head against each other, and shoved them both into the third man.

To his great misfortune, they now were exactly between him and his way out of this misery. He didn´t fool himself with the insanity of being able to knock them out for good, and he surely wouldn´t reach the door before they´d regained their stance. So he did the only thing that was left for him as an option. He ripped once again, on the rope. The man who´s neck had been caught in it, yelped, falling like an old tree, and Javert swirled around, before he heard the sound of him hitting the ground, running for the window. His hands worked without his mind, skillfully like he´d learned it in years and years of training, winding the rope, pitifully but sufficiently enough around the handle of his window. And then, with no chance at all of being sure if the rope would hold, he just jumped.

For a moment he saw the street closing in, way too fast, and the part of his mind that could still think, somehow had the time to realize how ridiculous this was. That he was now fighting for his life with everything he had, while only last night he would have happily given up, with no struggle at all. And then the rope strained, and he felt the pain of a pull in his shoulder, way too fast, and way too sudden. But he had no time to think about the pain. His feet touched the ground, and after a brief stumble to find his balance, he straightened and just ran.


	3. Fate

**Fate**

The street before the pharmacy was crowded, usually the perfect scene for someone who needed to hide in plain sight. If it hadn´t been for this shiny uniform Javert still wore. Epaulettes like his just had the tendency to draw too many gazes, something he had been proud of in another time of his life. Now it was as if all these gazes burned a hole into his skin, one after the other, until they would leave nothing of him but a crumbled heap of charred flesh.

Marianne was there, standing in her door, handing a bottle of some medicine to a customer. The old lady smiled at her, and in this moment, Marianne´s eyes found Javert. His expression instantly told her that something was wrong, and when he reached her, he didn´t have to tell her, to get inside, away from the street.

"What happened?" she asked, as he checked the street one last time, before closing the door.

"I need your help."

"I see that." It was spoken like a joke but without the smile to it. She realized how serious he was, and the former inspector was incredibly grateful for that. That he didn´t have to explain it to her, and this simple fact reassured him in his decision that this was the place where he´d find the help, he needed so desperately now.

"Someone´s after me." he told her, still breathless from his run back here. "They tried to kill me. Make it look like suicide."

Her shocked expression flickered, only for a moment, at this last revelation. He knew how ridiculous that sounded. Had they been there last night, they wouldn´t have needed to stage his suicide. But they hadn´t been there, last night, on that bridge. Marianne had been there. Just as she was here now. And she reacted so different from what he would have expected from a woman. She didn´t grow wide eyes, and threw her hand over her mouth, in shock and fear. She didn´t skip back or cried out. All she did was gasping, ever so slightly, her mouth opening in an expression of careful awareness, while her eyes momentarily darted away from him, as she took in his news.

"They broke into my home." he went on talking, mostly to get this anger off his chest. "Waited there for me."

"You know who they are?" Marianne asked, urgently, and he nodded. For a moment her eyes _did_ go wide, in hope though not in fear, as if this was something she´d been waiting for all her life. To hear the names of these men, Javert had just encountered.

But Javert had to tell her: "I don´t know their names. But I recognized something. A … A ring. One of them had a ring on his hand, that belongs to a group of … of soldiers."

"Soldiers."

He nodded. "They call themselves Serpents Corail. It´s a secret strike force. Their members are found in every position of the police and the military. All that matters to get into it is skill."

"Skill for what?" Marianne asked but it was clear that she was scared to hear the answer to that.

Javert expected to see the wide eyes over the hand on the mouth after all, when he told her, mercilessly: "Killing."

He waited for her reaction. The shock to settle in, the typical woman. But it didn´t come. She only frowned, almost sad, about this information. Something a normal citizen, even a man, might have found to be shocking to the bone. But all she did was looking at him. Waiting for him to continue. As if this kind of talk was not so unfamiliar to her.

Javert forced his irritation aside. "They´re trained to find and kill people. If they get the order, they don´t need to know why a man has to die. They simply follow the order."

"Who gave the order to kill you?" Marianne asked, way too collected. "Do you know it?"

Javert took a deep breath. "No." he said and there was something in her eyes, that looked like a silent curse: Dammit!

"But I know how to find out." he went on, narrowing his eyes. "I know whom to ask."

Marianne only nodded. "You cannot go out like that." she stated, matter of factly. "They´ll find you in no time. This uniform …"  
Javert could only agree. "I need to change into something unobtrusive. Something that makes me blend in. I don´t assume that you have any men´s clothing?"

There was a deep frown between her eyes. "I´ll get you something." She seemed to have problems, finding her next sentence. "My friend has a sewing shop, not far from here." she told him, her eyes, somewhere on the ground behind him. "I´ll be right back." She still didn´t look at him, as she walked past him, the frown deepening even more. "Wait here. Don´t stay in the front. Wait in my kitchen."

And with that she was gone, out of the door, without even one glance at him.

**...**

Valjean would have preferred to stay at home – dear god, even locking Cosette into her room, forbidding her to ever speak of this young boy again, would have been more preferable than to accompany her to his home. The place he´d only seen once, through a cloud of filth, smell and exhaustion.

Not that he had to worry they might recognize him. Not the way he´d looked at smelled that night. No, that was not his fear. Marius … he desperately tried to remember if he´d even seen him face to face in this night. Had he? And if they had glanced at each other, had Marius seen him clear enough to recognize him? Oh god, how he wished he could just stay away.

But of course he couldn´t. The baron would have been more than just startled, by a young woman like her, a woman he´d never seen before, showing up at his doorstep, only a day after his grandson was mortally wounded, asking to see him. And the way Valjean knew his daughter she would not be able to hide her affection well enough to let it seem appropriate.

So he took it upon himself to speak the words of formal greeting, asking politely to visit the sick young man. For his daughter and Marius were friends. And the whole time, Cosette kept quiet, beside him, her eyes cast down, glancing up again and again, begging the baron with her eyes, to please allow her in. To please say that her love was well. And Valjean had to compose himself even more than she had, to not let show how much it pained him, to be forced to witness this.

When they finally stepped up to Marius sickbed, the boy so pale he almost looked like a corpse, sleeping like that, Cosette couldn´t hold onto herself any longer. For just another moment, she hid her tears behind her open hand, gasping in despair, before she didn´t care any longer about the glances she´d get, and threw herself down beside the boy, caressing his face, his hair, his sweaty forehead.

"Marius." she wept. "Oh dear god, Marius. Please, don´t leave me. Not now. Not now."

Valjean met the eyes of the baron, startled about this outburst of tears and worry from Cosette. But after another moment, the old man started smiling, understanding at last, and he gave Valjean an approving nod. If only Valjean could have shared this feeling.

**...**

Javert´s nervous pacing stopped, when he heard the sound of the door. Not the front. Marianne entered through the back, probably to be more discrete. Once again he had to grant her a great skill for such things, and for a moment his suspicious mind, the mind of the inspector he once was, wanted to ask how this could be. How she knew how to do these things.

But he pushed it back.

"I know the police is in the streets all the time since they put the city under siege." she told him. "But I can´t help myself and feel as if they´re all looking for you."

The expression in her eyes, was enough to make any man smile. It might have been enough to even make Javert smile, or at least chuckle. Hadn´t the situation been so serious. Still for a moment, he almost felt amused.

When she handed him the clothes, he hesitated, only for a second, before turning away from her, to head for the bedroom door. How could this place be so familiar already? He´d been here only one time in his life, and most of this time, he´d been sleeping. And yet, he once again entered her bedroom, as if he knew this place intimately.

For a moment, he just stood there, frozen, as if the door behind him had brought him into another world, not just another room, leaving everything he was running away from outside. As if he had entered a bubble of entirely different air, where nothing from out there could reach him. Not as long as he stayed here. And if he just sat down, closed his eyes, and stayed still for long enough, maybe then everything would just go away, and the darkness would fade. Into this new day, Marianne had spoken off, last night. Maybe if he just waited here, this new dawn would come after all. Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow, but someday. Maybe someday.

But of course he couldn´t just sit down, and hide in here, huddled into a ball like a scared kid. There were men after him. Dangerous men. And they would find him, even here, if he didn´t beat them to it.

So he took off his uniform, sparing only one moment of regret when he dropped the blue jacket on Marianne´s bed, the symbol of his duty, his dedication, his entire life. Now he had to leave it behind. In order to live another day.

He turned away from it, forcing himself to move on, and when he returned to the sitting room, he was no longer a police inspector. He was simply a man, like any other man out there on the streets. And maybe that was what he was meant to be, he suddenly realized. After this fateful night at the barricades, later on that bridge, maybe this was the way he was meant to take from now on.

But not before he hadn´t finished this one business of his. Not before he knew why someone suddenly wanted his death. Not before he was sure they wouldn´t come again, when he least expected it.

When Marianne turned to him, seeing him in the unusual clothing, a tiny smile appeared on her face, only for a moment, before the reason for his change, came back to her.

"What will you do now?" she asked.

"I need to talk to someone. A man from the brigade. He´ll know what´s going on. He always seems to know these things."

He looked at her and once again there was nothing in her eyes but a calm awareness, tensed now, but still so steady, as if a huge wave could wash over her, and she´d only let it pass, waiting until it was gone, before she kept going, thinking about how to react and what to do next.

She nodded. "Be careful."

Nothing more. And Javert surprised himself by taking one more step closer to her, smiling at last, just a tiny bit. It felt strange. Strange in how easy it was.

"Thank you, Marianne." his own voice sounded like that of a stranger. But for her it seemed to be completely all right, no reason to frown and stare at him as if he´d lost his mind. The corner of her mouth twitched up, into a tiny smile, and for a moment she blushed, before she managed to turn it into an amused smirk.

"Well." she shrugged. "I guess it´s good to know that you´re willing to fight for your life again."

If Javert had needed another proof for the fact that this was a day made of miracles, this smile of his right now would have been it.

**...**

It was like a torture Valjean had to go through. To keep up the smile and stay polite, in the face of his worst pain. He was glad that there was some real pain in his body, aching muscles from the exertions of two days and nights of fighting, for dear life. The physical pain, as uncomfortable as it was, helped to ground him and not lose his mind. The baron had truly began to speak as if Marius and Cosette were already engaged.

God, he needed to get out and fill his lungs and mind with some fresh air.

"I ordered some medicine for Marius, at the pharmacy." the baron mentioned, as if he´d heard Valjean´s silent plead. "I should send one of my servants to pick it up before it closes."

Before he even knew what he was doing, Valjean stepped in his way.

"Please, Monsieur." he spoke. "Allow me."

"But …" the baron threw a glance at Cosette, who was still so focused on Marius that she didn´t even notice the discussion between the two men.

"I insist." Valjean told the baron, gently. "My legs are aching for some movement and it seems to me that Cosette won´t want to leave too soon anyway. Really, I would love to do this for you."

The baron seemed to think about this for a moment, probably debating if it was appropriate to leave the girl without her father, no matter if the young man was unconscious or not. But eventually he nodded.

"All right, Monsieur." he said, and somehow Valjean had the feeling as if the baron had guessed the real reason for his wish to retrieve after all. "I … could arrange a fiacre to drive the Mademoiselle home." he offered. "If you prefer to meet her there."

"What about the medicine?" was honestly startled for a moment.

But the baron assured him: "I still have some left. It´ll last until you bring me the refill tomorrow."

And in this moment Valjean just knew that the baron had understood. This emphasizing glance he got, was painful too, but not half as painful as having to stand by and watch how his beloved daughter poured out all her love and concern to this pale figure in the bed.

Valjean accepted the gesture, gratefully, and left, leaving it to the baron to tell Cosette about the arrangement. If she should ever get her eyes off this boy that was.

**...**

Javert waited in the narrow allay near the station, until the man he´d come here to see, was close enough to grab. He knew Dubois would come to this corner, he usually had a cigarette there, secretly during his watch. Javert had caught him a few times, wallowing in this disgusting new import, and every time the slimy bastard had sworn it wouldn´t happen again. Now Javert was glad for this weak character of the man.

When he dragged him into the allay, Dubois yelped like an idiot, grunting when his back hit the stone brick wall. His eyes found Javert, and for a moment they went wide, not quite with fear but with something else. The former inspector had no name for it. It only served to anger him more.

"Surprised to see me?" he snarled, and the man in his grip smiled, just as slimy as Javert knew him.

"In a matter of fact yes." Dubois croaked. "I heard that you resigned."

The man who once had been Dubois superior, nodded. "Obviously in more ways than one, right? You know that I had some visitors?"

"You had?"

The perkily ironic tone was instantly rewarded with another push against his throat.

"Don´t you dare to mock me." Javert hissed. "I recognized the ring one of them wore. He was from the Serpents Corail. You know who sent them, don´t you?" Dubois didn´t answer.

"Don´t you?" Javert pushed once again and the other man choked, nodding at last. Still there was this strange glowing in his eyes, as if he was more amused than scared.

"Who was it?" Javert demanded to know. "Who wanted me dead?"

Dubois was still smirking. "Gisquet."

Javert´s grip lost strength. He´d surely expected every name, but not that of the Police Prefect.

Dubois didn´t try to free himself, as he smirked down on him. Probably because he knew he was in no danger. Why should he be? If he wanted help, he only needed to yell out and every police man on the place would be happy to put a bullet into the head of this sentenced ex inspector.

"Why?" was all he could muster, barely a breath.

"Come on, Javert." Dubois sneered. "You were beaten up but not that bad. You remember what happened."

"At the barricades?" Javert´s thoughts flew back to Valjean, crawling out of the sewers, the half dead boy on his back, and those eyes, so tired and kind, even behind all that filth. To the back of the man he´d sworn to arrest, walking away from him, step by step, until he was gone.

"I … I tried not to …" he stammered but Dubois was untouched by his distress.

"You messed up." he told him straight to the face, and gave an uncaring shrug. "I guess many people did. But you know how these things work. Someone has to take the fall. And it can´t be Gisquet himself. He´s too close to the mayor."

For a moment Javert was just struck. "So this is not about …" he stopped himself just in time, but Dubois had noticed something. The smirk was gone, for a change, replaced by a frown.

"About what?"

Javert glanced at the other man, trying to read him. As if this hoser in police disguise had ever been worth a closer study.

"All this because of some politics?" he asked, still unable to believe his ears. "_That´s_ why they want to get rid of me?"

It was so ridiculous. The whole fuss about Valjean, the one thing Javert would have expected to come back and break his neck, had he not decided to be faster, and now it should be something like that? Something that had barely anything to do with him in the first place. Or with Valjean.

"You´re smart, Javert." Dubois was smirking again. "You know there´s more to that. But this is the only story they tell us. And the only one you´ll ever hear, if they find you."

The former inspector regarded his former inferior, this slimy smirk, this sassy glowing in the man´s eyes, so patronizing – where the hell did he take the confidence for such a smug grin? He was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not even within the police. But somehow this arrogant smile made Javert understand at last.

He stepped back, suddenly feeling dirty standing too close to this man. Dubois was still smiling.

Javert lowered his gaze, trying to shake this feeling of being derailed. His own superior. The Prefect he´d served for all these years. Now he´d given the order and left him for death, to be eaten by rabid dogs. Because this was practically what the Coral Snake was. A bunch of wild dogs, unchained, their wildness somehow harnessed to serve a purpose. And now this purpose was Javert.

"Thanks for the answers." he murmured, more disgusted than grateful and turned to leave.

"If I were you …" Dubois spoke behind him, still leaning against the wall. "I´d get the fuck out of Paris. Disappear. And hope that no one ever finds out that you´re still alive." At last he pushed himself off the wall, straightening his uniform. "And … it would be nice if you´d stay away from me, too. I don´t wanna end up like certain others that try to help you, if you get my meaning."

For a moment Javert was lost. But then he indeed got the meaning.

"What does that mean?" he pushed him back against the wall, with the same result as before.

"Let´s just say, it´s not very healthy to be associated with you just now." Dubois raised a patronizing brow. "No matter how pretty."

The look in Dubois eyes was just so arrogant, so knowing and yet so uncaring, that it hit something deep inside Javert´s soul. A weak spot he hadn´t known was there. But now he felt it, and as he stepped back, he felt a coldness take over his body, like he´d never known it before. The cold hand of fear. Not for himself – something he´d never really known, losing his life in the line of work was part of his duty – but for something else. Someone else.  
Marianne.

He stared into this arrogant face for two more heartbeats … and swirled around, already running.


	4. By the Passion and the Blood

**By the Passion and the Blood**

When Javert rushed into the pharmacy, the shop was empty. No sound audible, not even the faintest clattering of tools or footsteps from the back, which should have been there if Marianne had been busy back there. And he was sure she would have locked the door if she´d abandoned the shop for some errand.

His heart was racing, sweat appearing on his forehead. No. He couldn´t be too late. Mustn´t be.

He ran, around the counter, and to the back. As he ripped open the door to the sitting room, a gush of wind, produced by his own momentum hit his face, blinding him momentarily. But then his eyes found the floor, the table he´d had breakfast on only this morning, toppled over, and Marianne … oh god, Marianne.

His heart just about stopped for a moment. So did his breath. All the warmth of his body seemed to be gone, as he saw the blood, all over her, her eyes still open, her face still so calm and sad, as if she´d wished nothing more, even in dying, to see the next dawn. A light of hope at the horizon, chasing away the dark. Only now there was no light anymore. Not for her. She´d been thrown into the dark, just like all the others. The same dark Javert would have embraced the other night, if it hadn´t been for her.

The strength left his legs, leaving him numb. But only for a moment, until he heard the sounds, so familiar by now, of an attacker closing in.

Once again his instincts, gained in years of police work, saved his life, as he swirled around, and grabbed the pistol that was aimed at him. Javert recognized the man that had attacked him at his own place and in this moment, all the rage and fury he´d kept stored inside his heart, broke free. He yanked the arm of the man up and jerked it around, taking the gun out of his hands, just as the two others came into his view.

He shot, and it wasn´t before his bullet had hit that he saw the blood on the falling man´s hands. Not his own.

If Javert would have had the time, he would have followed this man, even while he was dying to pay him back what he had done, orders or not. But he didn´t have the time. The man he´d disarmed lunged at him, too fast this time for Javert to dodge him, and the gun got knocked out of his hand. For a moment his world spun, and then he collided with the door, throwing it shut with a loud bang.

Javert heard a click, and when he looked, the third man aimed at him. Already working purely on instinct again, Javert spun the man that had pushed him around, and brought him between himself and the bullet. It hit his human shield, where he didn´t know. And didn´t care. He pushed the man off himself towards the shooter. And behind him the door got opened, hastily.

He swirled around, expecting another attacker, a customer, even a police man. But what he saw left him speechless for a moment.

He stared into the gaping face of none other than Jean Valjean, and in this moment, the moment God seemed to have chosen to improve his humor, the former inspector, almost started to laugh. That was until he remembered the third man, and his gun, probably ready to shoot again by now.

He swirled back around, glancing over his shoulder, just in time to see him aim it. Two guns, not just one. One for each of them? And without knowing why he did this, Javert didn´t lunge for the shooter, but for Valjean.

The shot echoed behind him, the bullet sizzling through the air only a few inches past his head, and Javert just knew he´d miscalculated. The counter was too close, the space outside the door, too narrow, for a good landing. Valjean´s back hit the wood, and so did Javert´s elbow, sending pins and needles up his arm, only a second before they painfully hit the floor.

They barely had the time to realize what just happened, and that the respective other was indeed in the same room, when the looming shadow of their killer was behind them yet again.

Javert was too slow, and wouldn´t have made it up in time, to make another stand. The pistol was aiming at the back of his head, before he´d even seen it coming. And then Valjean kicked out, into the knee of the man, and his assassin yelped out, in pain, doubling over.

Javert didn´t wait any longer. He grabbed the man and brought the gun down, aiming it at his abdomen. When the next shot came, the assassin went still, tensed, until his body gave in and he sagged down, to the ground.

"What in God´s name is going on?" Valjean cried, from the floor.

But before Javert had a chance to even take in the question, someone from outside yelled, crying out for help. For the police.

"Dammit." the former police inspector dropped the empty weapon and for no other reason than the fact that he couldn´t leave any witnesses, he grabbed Valjean and jerked him back to his feet.

Getting out through the front was no option so he shoved him back into the sitting room. There was no time, none at all, to stop and glance down on the dead Marianne, to regret her death and feel guilt and pain and shame all in one. No time to mourn this loss that shouldn´t have been a loss for him. Not over someone he´d just met, only a night before. Someone who´d only died because she´d tried to help him.

"What …?" Valjean´s voice brought him back to reality, and Javert pushed him out of the door.

"Don´t stand around like a dumbfounded idiot." he barked at him. "Do you _want_ to get arrested?"

At the corner he stopped anyway, just for an instant, to look back, checking.

"I don´t understand." he heard Valjean breath, and this time when he met his old foe´s gaze, he saw the confusion, the puzzlement, the fear. And for the first time in his life, he couldn´t even blame him.

"Neither do I." he answered him. And in his lack of any other word to say, he took his collar, forcing him to move again. "Now come on. You do remember how to run, right?"

**...**

Talbert glanced around the room, at the dead body behind the counter, a young sergeant leaning over it, before hastily standing up to look through the door. More dead bodies. Talbert met the gaze of the third man that shared this discovery, and the way Moreau´s jaw was working, the scar on his neck moving like a writhing snake, Talbert knew that they had the same thoughts.

They didn´t need to see who was back there. If Javert would be one of them, there´d be someone here to tell them what had happened. But there wasn´t.

"Oh, dear lord." the young sergeant exclaimed, and his gaze fell down, to the man by his feet. A puzzled expression appeared on his face. "Sir. This is Roulliard." he found, and instantly his eyes searched the other bodies. "And this man. I know him too. He´s from the national guard. What by the …?"

"It´s all right, sergeant, we will look into this." Moreau stopped him, before the young man could start wondering even more. Maybe even why police men and soldiers were found dead, in civil clothes, all in one place that contained a dead civilian on top of it. Or why the mayor´s personal secretary was out in the streets, investigating a crime scene for that matter.

Talbert watched how Moreau gave the young sergeant a strict glance. "Secure the place." he ordered him. "Let no one inside. This is an official crime scene now."

The man nodded, intimidated, be it by Talbert´s presence or his position – or maybe by all the blood around him – and hurried out.

The secretary took a deep breath, meeting the gaze of the police man, so intense.

"We have to report this." Moreau said, and Talbert almost laughed.

"Of course we have to." The stare didn´t let go of him. It was seething. "What?" the secretary demanded.

"You told me to keep our distance." Moreau recalled, accusingly. "To let _them_ handle it. It would be fine."

"It should have been." Talbert cried, panting in his anger. "These three were good at their job. They served the mayor well, in the past." He ran a hand over his mouth, smoothing the blond hairs covering his chin. "And he´s only one man."

"If he´s only one man, why are so many of us on this task?" Moreau countered. "This whole thing should be over by now. And not like this." He gestured for the dead bodies around them, and Talbert could only hope that his stare would rebuke the man. This was serious business and he couldn´t have a man like Moreau, no matter how well trained and experienced, to question his orders.

"Soon it will be." he promised him, therefor. "He can´t hide forever. You and your men will find and eliminate him."

He gave Moreau a gaze that spoke loud and clear that he´d better not object now. And Moreau didn´t. How could he? Every objection now, would only diminish his own skills, and those of his men. And none of those who belonged to the Serpents Corail would ever dare to do this.

Talbert nodded. "You will find him." he repeated one more time. "One man can´t be a danger to us. We´ve come too far for this. Javert is on his own, and this is how he´ll meet his end."

**...**

When his back hit the wall, the iron hand of the inspector around his throat, Valjean lost all the air from his lungs.

"And now you´ll tell me." Javert hissed into his face. "What did you do in that pharmacy?"

Valjean looked into those furious eyes of a man, he´d always expected to meet this way, and strangely he wasn´t even scared. Confused, yes. Irritated. Totally lost in why and how he´d gotten here. But he had lived too long with this nightmare of Javert catching up with him, discovering his true identity and throwing him back into a cell, chained up like a slave again, that this situation was almost too familiar by now, to be scared of it. It would have scared him, if it had never happened at all.

"What does a man usually do in a pharmacy?" he spoke. "I came to pick up some medicine." He saw the change in Javert´s eyes, as his words came home to him, making him halt and think. "For Marius." Valjean specified, and the words spilled out of him, without him wanting it. "The boy I took from the barricades. He´s still not well. But he lives. Thanks to you. Hadn´t you allowed me to leave, he would have died."

For a moment the anger seemed to come back to Javert, but in the end his hand let go of Valjean´s throat, and he stepped back, exhausted.

"Who were these men?" Valjean asked. "Why did they try to kill us?"

Javert didn´t answer. He seemed to lack the strength for it.

"I came to the station." Valjean blurred, not really knowing why this was important, especially now. "A few hours after you let me go. To turn myself in."

At this Javert finally glanced at him again, and the expression in his face was almost one of shock. "Why would you do that?"

"I gave you my word." was all Valjean knew to say to that. "But you weren´t there. They told you you had resigned. Is that true?"

Once again he didn´t get an answer. But the way Javert avoided his gaze, spoke more than thousand words.

"Why?" He just couldn´t believe it.

The voice of the former inspector, was low and almost hurt, when he spoke: "I don´t expect you to understand, Valjean. So there is no sense in trying to explain it to you."

Valjean didn´t know what to say. Javert turned away from him, halting, as if thinking. His eyes were those of an hunted animal, still aware, always ready to jump and run – or fight.

"So you really just came there for some medicine." he repeated. "You really expect me to believe that you showing up there, right in this moment, was pure coincidence?"

Valjean looked into this wary gaze and knew no response. "What do you want me to say?"

Javert´s eyes fell down, as he thought, visibly struggling to decide what to do with this.

"These men tried to kill me." he said at last. "And for that they killed an innocent woman. I can´t afford to believe in coincidences."

Valjean frowned, uncertain. He´d never expected Javert, from all the people in the world, to talk like that. What on earth did he mean by that?

"Who are these men?" he asked again. "And why were we running from the police? I thought you´d …"

"Shut up." Javert hissed, with unexpected force. "You know nothing, Valjean. Nothing, you hear me?"

The former convict stared at his old foe, taken aback, much more than he thought he could be, by an outburst like this. Something about the way Javert had said that, was strange. Unexpected. And his gaze, the depth in his eyes, seemed to be torn, when he glanced at him again.

Valjean was not sure what he expected Javert to say next, but it surely wasn´t: "Do you believe in God, Valjean?"

Before he could even think of nodding, Javert – obviously assuming that of course the answer was yes – went on with no pause at all: "And in fate?"

Valjean was so confused, more than ever, since he´d entered this pharmacy and heard the shots. What was Javert talking about? And where did he want to go with this?

As if he´d read those questions in his face, Javert narrowed his eyes at him, nodding almost unnoticeable. "I recently learned that nothing happens without a reason." he spoke, as if holding a very important speech. "You being here must have a reason. And right now I don´t have the luxury to doubt these reasons." Before Valjean even knew what was happening, the former police inspector had grabbed the fabric of his coat again. "You´re coming with me." he stated, no argument allowed. "And you will help me find these men. Helping shouldn´t be too hard for you, right, man of mercy?"

**...**

Cosette looked up, at the sound of the door, and instantly she was up, out of her chair, hurrying to the front door. Finally. It had gotten too late by now. Way too late. Soon it would be darkening.

This was not normal. Not even for him. So short after he´d been gone for a day..

"Papa!" she cried before she even saw him, having recognized him by the sounds he made, when entering. "Why did you just leave? You could have said someth …"

Her gaze fell upon the second man, in her father´s company. Cold blue eyes met hers and for a moment she felt as if this gaze, took all the warmth from her blood.

"Cosette." her father spoke, from far away as it seemed. "My dear. We have a guest tonight." His gaze found that of the other man, briefly as if he was unsure himself. "Would you prepare the guest room, please?" he asked her nonetheless.

Cosette regarded the gaze this man gave her father, so cold and ungrateful, as if he´d just insulted him, instead of offering hospitality. And in this moment Cosette was certain that this man was capable of nothing else but coldness. And that he would draw them both into this pit along with him, if they allowed him to stay around them for too long.

"Papa." she dragged him aside, whispering urgently at him: "I know his face, this is the police man we …" she halted briefly and lowered her voice even more. "… we ran away from the other day. Don´t you remember?"

But her father didn´t seem to be concerned about her warning. He who had always taken so much care, not to get close to any police uniform they saw in the streets.

"Don´t worry, Cosette." he told her, not trying in the least to speak quietly. As if he wanted this man to hear everything he said. "I know exactly who he is." he told her, and looked up, at the inspector.

Cosette´s heart beat in her throat, as those cold blue eyes lay first on her father, and then on her. Surely the next thing to happen would be that this man would reveal his true colors after all, and arrest them both for some made up crime. Just as she had always feared it would happen, if she should ever see this face again. The man from the nightmares of her childhood.

The more did it startle her, that his voice didn´t sound like roaring thunder, not slicing as a knife, or poisonous like the venom of a snake. For a moment this man, that wasn´t dressed as police but definitely was, straightened his posture, just a bit, before he spoke, surprisingly soft.

"I can assure you, Mademoiselle. You have nothing to fear from me. I´m no longer with the police. In fact …" and at this his steel blue eyes met her father´s again. "I might be a wanted fugitive myself now."

Cosette could feel her father tense, beside her, at those words. But just as always when something from his past was stirring inside of him, he concealed it quickly, before it surfaced, for someone – her – to see.

"Cosette." he turned to her, sounding almost nonchalant. "Would you make us some coffee? The inspector …" he met the other man´s gaze, reconsidering. "Javert and I have to talk." he finished and Cosette could see in Javert´s face that there was something strange about the fact that he had chosen to rephrase it.

For a moment her insides fought against his wish, to leave them alone, but in the end, she obeyed, as she always did. Instead of leaving for the kitchen though, she stopped, just behind the door.

"What happened?" she heard her father ask. "Is it because of me? Because you let me go?"

There was a faint snort, from the inspector. "Don´t flatter yourself, Valjean. The world is not circling only around you."

"Then what´s the reason for all of this? Please tell me, I might be able to help."

Cosette heard footsteps, and then the sound of someone sitting down. The sigh she heard was not her father´s. Neither was that ironic chuckle.

"How could _you_ be able to help?" Javert asked, and Cosette couldn´t help herself. She had to see. So she opened the door again, just a crack, to peek through.

"Do you even know what you´re doing?" Javert asked, and in the way he looked upwards at the ceiling, she guessed that this question had not been meant for her father.

"You say you are a convict now." her father spoke, gently, and as Javert turned back to him, he shrugged, smiling. "Let´s just say I have some experience with that. I _could_ be of help."

Cosette´s hand tensed, around the door handle. Now it would happen, she was sure of it. Now this ruthless police inspector would jump up and arrest him. Why? Why had he said this? After all those years? Had he lost his mind? Had he forgotten?

The same time her heart beat faster, in anticipation, and a part of her wanted nothing more than for him to go on, tell some more. A convict? Experience? What kind of experience?

Outside Javert did not jump up. He remained in his seat, glancing at her father tiredly. "Yeah." he sighed. "I guess you could."

After having spoken this his face got distorted by something Cosette could only name as a sort of pain, even though she knew that this was not even half of what this was. Javert turned away from her father, burying his face in his hand. "What has happened to this world?" he groaned. "I´m in the house of a convict. I should be here arresting you. Instead I´m hiding from my own men."

Cosette gasped, closing her mouth quickly, and her heart was so loud in her ears that she was sure they had to hear it. But they didn´t.

Javert kept his face in his hand, palm massaging his forehead in despair. And when Cosette looked at her father, she saw only sympathy there. A compassion that she only knew from him, when it was about people who were truly miserable. Beggars, ill, poor people. Not a man like this. And for the first time in her life Cosette feared that her father´s good heart would bring him harm. Maybe even worse.

She watched with dread as he started to move, closer to this man that could be both of their doom, and touched his shoulder, so light, only with the tips of his fingers.

"Javert." he addressed him, gently. "What happened?"

The inspector looked up at him and the cold gaze immediately made him withdraw his hand. Once again Cosette tensed, but Javert did nothing.

"The bottom line." he started. "Though I´m sure it´s only half of the truth … is that someone wants to kill me. Apparently my own superiors."

Her father shook his head in disbelieve. "Why that?"

Javert straightened a little bit. "Someone has to take the blame for what happened at the barricades. They tried to stage it as a suicide."

For a moment her father frowned, thinking, before he asked: "Why did they kill the pharmacist?"

And for some reason this question seemed to make the inspector sad. "She tried to help me." he told. "She saved my life."

Cosette´s head twitched, as she regarded this scene in the other room. Was that real? Or was he just pretending? Somehow she couldn´t believe that this man was capable of a real emotion like this. It just had to be an act, to convince her father that he was true. And it seemed to work.

"She must have been very brave." he found, and what Javert said next, at least sounded real.

"She was an angel."

Her father raised his brows, startled about this unexpected soft and broken tone. Maybe he saw through it after all. Cosette could only hope.

"I … I´m sorry." he said, shattering her hopes. "Javert."

The other man glanced up, his gaze hard again, angry. "I´m sure you are." he hissed, and got up.

Cosette reacted by instinct when she hurried through the door, back to them, as if she had to keep this police man from attacking her father. But as she stood there, the two men simply turned around to her, startled but not all that much. And all she could think of was: A lie. It just has to be a lie.

But her father believed him. And she had always trusted her father. He´d been the one to protect her all these years. Would he trust this man into their home, if he would have any reason to believe that he could be dangerous to them?

"Cosette …" her father started but she shook her head, stopping him. Her eyes lay on Javert, trying to decide at last. And his gaze, now that she saw it closer, was indeed softer than before. Sadder. Could it be?

"I heard what you said." she admitted, briefly meeting her father´s gaze before the inspector drew her attention again. God, could it really be? It was so hard for her to believe. At last she had to make herself speak up again.

"I´m sorry for your friend, sir." was all she could muster.

The inspector sighed, and gave her father a glace. "It is so good to know how well concealed I am in this house."

Cosette glanced at her father, taken aback at this remark, and he seemed embarrassed even.

"Besides me and Cosette no one will know that you´re here at all." he said. "I swear to you."

The door Cosette had used to conceal her spying, got opened even more, and new footsteps entered the living room.

"Monsieur, please forgive me but I must speak." Toussaint blurred, placing herself in the middle of them all. "I have a friend, Estelle. She and her husband work with the nurses in the infirmary. Maybe she can help you with your investigation."

Javert´s glare got more intense, as he seemed to say: Yes, I see how well concealed I am here. I see it very well.

Once again Cosette saw her father react with embarrassment. "Monsieur Javert may I introduce … this is … Madame Toussaint. Our … housekeeper. But besides her … there´s really no one here. Really."

"I really didn´t want to listen in, Messieurs." Toussaint just went on. "I apologize. But the walls are not that thick you see and …"

Cosette caught yet another glance between her father and the inspector, so telling, but her father avoided it quickly, clearing his throat.

"Anyway, you said you know someone, Amélie?"

"Yes, Monsieur. She´s an old dear friend of mine. And her husband works at the infirmary of the station. Many police men come and go there. If anyone knows anything, then it is him. And if he doesn´t know. He knows whom to ask."

Cosette watched how Javert once again found her father´s gaze, both of them thinking this through. At last the inspector nodded his agreement, and her father turned to Toussaint.

"Would you talk to your friend, Amélie?" he asked her and she nodded, eagerly.

"I´ll go there right away, Monsieur."

"Ask about a group called Serpants Corail." Javert instructed her. "Something is going on at the higher departments of the police, and maybe the city itself. Your friend´s husband shall be careful who he speaks to."

Toussaint nodded one more time, and without another word, she was gone, out of the door, to run this errand as quickly as possible. Cosette could not stop watching the inspector, still looking for something that would betray him. But when his gaze found hers, there was nothing. He was just unreadable.

"I believe it is better I don´t stay here." he said, talking to her father, not to her.

"Why not?" her father asked, and as the inspector turned to leave, he hurried after him. "Wait."

Javert whispered his response, but Cosette heard it anyway. "The last person that tried to shelter me, was killed. Do you want to risk the same thing happening to her?"

"But … where will you go?" her father asked.

Javert´s eyes searched Cosette again, very briefly. "Don´t worry." he said. "I know my ways in this city."  
"How can I reach you?"

The inspector halted in the door, and Cosette had to keep herself from shouting at him to leave already. Why was her father trying to hold him back? Even the inspector seemed wary about this behavior. Eventually he straightened.

"I´ll find _you_." he answered the question and then at last, he left.

Cosettte was at her father´s side, immediately.

"Papa." she urged his gaze away from the door. "Are you really sure that we can trust him?"

She was sure he had to hear the urgency in her words, that he had to understand how concerned she was, and for a reason. But all he did was sigh, and pad her hand.

"Don´t you worry, Cosette."

But this time she couldn´t just not worry, Cosette. "You think I don´t remember that night, from so long ago." she blurred. "At the gates of Paris. When he chased us through the night. But I do remember." And as she told him this, she saw the fear in his eyes. "This man has hunted us ever since I can remember." she spoke. "How can we trust him now? He could be trying to fool us."

The pain in her father´s eyes had so many layers, she couldn´t have told where it came from, even if her life depended on it.

"He´s not." was all he said, and even though Cosette had never fully understood her father, now it was even worse.

"And how can you be so sure?" she asked.

"Because I know how it is to be in his shoes." was his cryptic answer. That and another one of his, reassuring: "Just trust me, Cosette."


	5. The Truth Within

**The Truth Within**

"We have a problem." Moreau´s words were spoken even before he´d fully entered the office.

Talbert looked up, from his writing, refusing to be infected by this man´s anxiety. "We have more than one." he replied, putting his pen away. "Which one are you referring to?"

Moreau marched up to his desk, leaning on it. "There are people asking around. Questions that shouldn´t be asked."

The secretary gave the police man a gaze of indifference. "That was to be expected."

"Not like this." Moreau insisted, and at last Talbert allowed himself to think. Maybe there was something to Moreau´s histrionics after all.

"Like what?" he asked, collected.

"An old man was heard to ask about the Serpents Corail." Moreau told him, walking up and down before his desk. "He´s a civilian. He shouldn´t even know that name."

Talbert understood. "Someone must have told him."

"Javert!"

But at this Talbert looked up, sharply. "We can´t know that. For all we know he could have skipped the city by now. If he´s smart that´s what he has done." He got up. "There are other people, too, Moreau. Others than a wasted inspector to be worried about. Each of them could have spoken to this man." he halted, thinking for a moment. "Do we have his name?"

Moreau nodded and Talbert mirrored the nod. "Take care of this."

"What about Javert?"

"We don´t know where he is. If he ever shows up again, we´ll take care of him. For now we have more pressing issues to deal with. You know what I´m talking about."

And of course Moreau knew.

**...**

When Valjean had found out where Javert had taken his stay, he´d been surprised. He´d never taken the man for someone able to lower himself down to such a level, even when it was about his life. But obviously he´d underestimated him. And just knowing that the inspector was probably disgusted with himself for staying that close to the street walkers´ patch, the most shady and filthy part of the city, Valjean felt a certain rise of respect for the man. He must hate it, but he did it anyway. Because it was necessary. And Valjean couldn´t help but wonder, if Javert would have also done that before the barricades.

He knocked on the door, throwing a glance over his shoulder, and mused that it might have been a better idea to wear something less shiny than his heavy coat, before he came here. People were looking at him funny – some hungry, for money – ever since he´d gotten here. But it was too late to do anything about that now.

The door got opened, just a bit and along with a very suspicious Javert, there was the barrel of a gun peeking out.

When the former inspector met Valjean´s gaze, his paranoia changed to anger.

"For Christ´s sake!" he cursed, aiming the gun to the ground. "How the hell did you find me?"

"I know this city too, Javert." Valjean told him, attempting to step inside.

Javert cursed under his breath and hurried to the window, peeking out, as if Valjean was not important, but would definitely bring the trouble with him.

"Listen to me." Valjean tried to gain his attention. "I have some information that might interest you."

Javert didn´t listen. He put the gun down, on what could only be called a bed in the absolute widest definitions, and got a tiny bag from underneath it, starting to gather his few belongings.

"What are you doing?"

"If you found me here, so will they." Javert glared at him, over his shoulder, and for a moment Valjean felt guilty, as if he truly gave away the former inspector´s hideout.

"You are good in finding criminals." he mentioned, as Javert kept throwing his stuff into the bag. "But hiding … and pretending that you´re someone else … that´s not your best, now is it?"

Javert glanced at him, for a moment, but didn´t dignify his remark with an answer. Valjean shrugged.

"Your face is just too well known." he mentioned, but of course Javert would know that himself. "Maybe you should … change your appearance." he suggested, and received yet another glare.

"I´ll think about it." was the growled answer. Eventually Javert shook his head, turning back to his bag. "I should have known better than to hide from a convict." he mumbled, not looking up again until he was done. The last item, his gun, vanished inside the bag, and he closed it with a snap.

"What is this information you talked about?" he finally wanted to know. And for an instant the ex-convict was off balance.

"Amélie´s friend says …" he forcefully called himself to order. "... that her husband noticed some intensive movements of the police forces."

Javert snorted. "After this revolt that is hardly a surprise." he commented on this piece of information, that he probably considered rather poor.

But Valjean knew better than that. "No." he objected. "He says it started before the revolt. And it wasn´t _your_ men that he saw."

That at last caught Javert´s attention.

"He saw you too." Valjean affirmed, and the other man´s gaze spoke volumes. "But this …" he shook his head. "Did you notice that now that so many of your men died at the barricades, they got replaced rather quickly?"

"That´s military efficiency."

"No, not like this. This was initiated before the revolt even started. As if someone knew … and wanted them replaced by the right men. His men?"

"His?"

"Apparently they follow a man named Lecomte. Do you know him?"

Javert glanced up, and Valjean knew he did. Only he wouldn´t just admit that.

"What if I did?" he asked.

"Javert." Valjean urged. "Something is going on up there. In the higher ranks of your police, and maybe the national guard. And it is not for the public´s best interest. There´s something more to that. Much more."

Once again Javert snorted, as if this whole talk was simply ridiculous.

"They tried to kill me." he recalled. "One of their own. I´m inclined to agree with you."

"But you said it was to make you take the fall, to blame you for what happened. That´s too simple for this kind of effort."

"I never said it was simple. I said, that this was all I had learned so far. And I know it´s about more than just me. Don´t you dare thinking of me as an arrogant megalomaniac. I know very well how important I am for this world. Or how less."

Valjean stared at him, taken aback. "That´s … not what I wanted to say."

"Of course." was all Javert would give him for a response, and headed for the door.

"Where do you go?" Valjean flinched at the retrieve.

"First I need to find a new stay." Javert answered, brusquely. "And then I need to talk to someone. An old friend." He turned back, briefly. "Tell your servant my thanks. From here I better go on alone."

And with that he walked out, leaving the dumbfounded Jean Valjean behind, to deal with his own thoughts.

**...**

Cosette paced through her room, her hands fiddling with each other, nervously. Please, she begged. Please, watch over him. Don´t let him run into his own perdition.

This inspector was bad news. She just knew it. Why oh why did her father insist on helping him? It was beyond her.

Oh god, her soul was torn. Two men that she held so dear to her heart. Both in grave and mortal danger, the one by an outside force, the other by his own choice. And in both cases she was totally powerless to interfere. Oh God, was that what life had in store for her? To lose everyone she cared about, to a gruesome fate that didn´t care at all about the pain it would cause her? Just like she once lost her mother without a chance to ever see her again, or say goodbye? Would she lose Marius like that too? And her father? Oh God, she should have never let him go. She shouldn´t have …

"Mademoiselle!" It was Toussaint´s voice that kept her thoughts from spinning round and round, again and again until she would be too dizzy to stay on her feet.

The good soul was in the door, an expression of utter love in her eyes. And for a moment Cosette wanted to yell at her, how she could dare to look so happy when everyone she loved in this world, was about to die.

But then Toussaint spoke.

"I just met a friend of mine, on the market. She works for the baron Gillenormand." The happy glowing in the old woman´s eyes increased even more, and for the first time in ages, as it seemed to her, Cosette felt her heart beat with glee again.

"She says," Toissaint told her. "That the young man, Marius … he woke up."

**...**

As the old man entered his living room it was dark, save for the shady light that shone in through the window, from the street. He put down his bag, taking off his hat, decorated with all the glory a man of the force could earn, after reaching the respectable rank of an inspecteur général.

After he´d lit the first candle of his lamp, beside the door, Javert rose from the armchair he´d waited in until now. When he stepped out of the dark, the old man swirled around, his hand reaching back, probably for the door handle, in order to retrieve quickly. But it never happened.

Javert´s gaze was hard, cold as stone. And when the old inspector saw him, he let out a sigh of relieve.

"Dear God, Javert." he panted, holding his chest. "You almost gave me a heart attack."

"Hello, Gareaux." Javert´s voice was cold, his gaze unyielding.

The gray eyes of the old man regained some of their awareness. "I´m glad to see you." he told him, but

Javert remained straightfaced, unimpressed.

"Are you?"

Gareaux´s expression showed a hint of sadness, but that could have been faked. Javert stepped closer, to see him better. He needed to make sure. And somehow Gareaux knew this.

"You know why I´m here." he stated, not a question, and Gareaux nodded, very serious.

"Yes. I know."

Javert still didn´t show any expression other than coldness, staring Gareaux down. He had to give the old man that: he didn´t cringe. But this, once again, could mean what Javert suspected, nothing more. Delaying the inevitable was useless, so he asked him straight: "Are you with them?"

It shouldn´t hurt so much, to ask this question, his voice should not sound scared and sad. But it did.

Gareaux shook his head, sadly. "Oh, Javert. You should know me better than that, son."

Javert held this gaze, boring into it, trying to read it, to find deception in it after all. But he failed. All he saw was truth. Just as he´d always seen it in this man. And something inside him broke, at this discovery. Maybe some things in this world were still the same after all. Maybe not everything was changed and gone to hell. If he could still trust in the integrity of someone.

His chest loosened somewhat with the breath he took in, and if it hadn´t been for that he hadn´t even noticed how tensed he´d been.

"What is going on?" he asked. "Why does Gisquet want my death?"

"It´s not just your death that he wants." Gareaux told him. "You´re just a small wheel in this whole apparatus, Javert."

So it was true. Javert looked down, into the eyes of the man that had taught him almost everything he knew, about being just and a good police man. He looked into his eyes, and what he saw there scared him.

"Tell me what you know." he asked anyway, and Gareaux sighed, shaking his head.

"I don´t know much." he admitted. "Not enough at least."

"Tell me anyway."

The old man narrowed his eyes, as if trying to decide if he should. As if he wasn´t sure Javert would be able to handle the truth. But in the end he did speak.

"What do you think happened these last few weeks?" he asked. "This revolt. Do you think that just happened because of some angry kids?" he shook his head. "No. How do you think this General Lamarque got sick in the first place?" And before Javert could even work his way through this implication, Gareaux already spoke it out, plainly. "He was poisoned." he said. "By someone close to him."

For a moment Javert was just thunderstruck. Did he just hear right?

Gareaux nodded. "They knew these kids would take the very first reason that would offer itself to them, to start their riot." he lowered his gaze, shaking his head angry but sad. "The only one who probably could have stopped them with reasoning, was Lamarque himself." he pointed out, leaving Javert even more lightheaded than he´d already been.

"Someone wanted this revolt?"

"For two reasons." the old man affirmed, grimly. "To get rid of these kids … and of someone much higher up." his gaze was so intense, when he once again shook his head, fuming on the inside. "This whole thing is much bigger than you can imagine."

Javert remembered how to breath, just a moment before he would have forgotten it.

"Who wanted this?" he asked, but at this Gareaux lowered is gaze, in grim shame.

"I don´t know their names." he said. "Someone very powerful."

"You must know something." Javert pursued, and the old man looked up, with a small glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"I have a contact." he told him. "_She_ knows. I told her to ask around. Gather information. I haven´t heard of her yet."

"Who?"

"Her name is Marianne. Marianne Póche. She has a pharmacy at Rue de la Joaillerie."

Gareaux frowned, startled, as he noticed Javert´s reaction. How he stared at him, pale like a fish.

"Marianne?" he could only breath the name, and his reaction finally made Gareaux understand.

"You know her?"

Javert had to make himself come out of this shock. That couldn´t be a coincidence. There were no coincidences. He looked at Gareaux, narrowing his eyes, and started to wonder. How much more did he hide from him?

"She´s dead." he informed his old teacher, purposefully without mercy. "They killed her."

It showed effect. The man before Javert paled. "Oh my God." he groaned, and his shock seemed genuine.

So he really hadn´t known? Javert wasn´t sure about anything anymore.

"You say she was your spy?"

"I … I knew her father well." Gareaux seemed to still struggle with the news of her death. "And … She came to me. She had overheard a conversation between two men. She told me that there was a conspiracy. To make a revolt break lose. A revolt in which these men hoped many men would die. Soldiers. Revolutionaries. Police men." He looked up at Javert, almost pleadingly. "I told Marianne to watch over you, and report to me if there was something worrisome." he told him, as if this fact, his good will, would grant him Javert´s forgiveness.

But he was wrong. It wasn´t Javert´s forgiveness that he had to ask for.

The former inspector closed eyes. "So she knew who I was?" He met Gareaux gaze and the old man had no idea what he´d just done to him, telling this.

"Did she report to you what happened that night after the barricades?" he wanted to know. He knew it probably didn´t matter. But he just couldn´t help himself. He needed to know.

"I haven´t spoken to her since the night _before_ the barricades." Gareaux replied, startled. "Why? What happened?"

Javert straightened, calling his heart to order. "Nothing." he turned to stone once again, and demanded to know: "What did she tell you last time you saw her?"

"She told me what you planned to do. I tried to reach you, but you were unavailable."

"I was undercover."

"I know. I´m glad you made it out alive. Their arms might be long but gratefully not long enough to reach you there."

Not as long as the arm of an ex-convict, Javert added in his mind, but forced it aside.

"And Marianne knew who they were?" he continued the questions.

"She knew one of them. She didn´t tell me his name. She said she wanted to make sure her family was safe, before she gave me the information."

"What family? I thought her parents are dead." And for a moment Javert feared to hear of a husband next, maybe children. Why, for God´s sake? What difference would it make?

"She has a sister." Gareaux told him. "And apparently this woman has a daughter. Still just an infant. She feared for their safety, so I promised her to get them out of the city. To a safe place. After that she agreed to meet me, to give me what I needed. But then the revolt began and we didn´t have a chance to speak again."

Javert closed his eyes. "Then the information died with her."

"Not necessarily." Gareaux objected, still hopeful. "I know Marianne. She was very careful, very considerate. An information as important as this, is something she would have saved somewhere. Just in case something should happen to her."

The old man looked at Javert, and only because he knew him for all these years, he noticed the change in the younger man´s face. The pain it had just caused in his chest to know that Marianne had actually expected not to make it out of this alive.

"I need to tell you some more, Javert." Gareaux finally went on. "You need to be careful whom to trust. Right now no one is clean in my book. I have started to fear for my life. Just before you came I thought someone else was after me. I´m thanking God that it was you."

Javert was irritated. "What do you mean?"

"Outside. In that alley. You really scared me for a moment, Javert."

But Javert could only shake his head, in confusion. "I waited here for you, for hours."

The realization came too late, for both of them. Before Javert even knew what had happened, a shattering sound broke the stillness of the room, as a bullet crushed through the glass of the window, spreading Gareaux´s collar with the darkest red. The old man fell down, his hand clutching his neck, and Javert could do nothing but hold him, watching as his old teacher died away.

Another bullet was fired, gratefully missing him by a few inches, and Javert took cover.

"Monsieur Gareaux!" someone yelled, and when Javert turned, he saw a lanky man, standing in the door to the kitchen, eyes wide. Gareaux´s servant.

Javert didn´t wait for him to figure out how to react to this man with the bloody hands, standing over his dead master, and stormed out of the door. The shooter had to be close. He needed to find him. Before he could run.

But the servant had now decided what to do, much faster than Javert had hoped. He shouted for help, as if the devil himself was after his poor soul. Someone had killed his master, and was currently trying to run. And Javert was the only one who knew that the real murderer was not him.

"Who´s there?" he heard someone shout, at the end of the street, and when he turned around, he saw a police man. When the young officer heard the screams of the servant, he drew his pistol. And Javert ran.

He had no idea, where the others had come from, and why he cursed the fact that the police was so present in the streets at night, but the next thing he knew was that he was hearing the footsteps and voices of at least half a dozen police men, coming from behind him, from ahead, from everywhere.

His hands were still red from Gareaux´s blood. He was a wanted fugitive, had a target on his back already, they would not ask what had really happened. He knew. Oh God, he knew.

And then, when he knew he was cornered with no way to escape, someone grabbed him from out of the shadows, dragging him into a narrow alleyway.

For a moment Javert expected an attack, maybe from the police, maybe from the shooter that had killed Gareaux, from anyone. But the hand that closed his mouth was gentle, not violent, and the eyes that stared at him in this dark corner were familiar too.

Valjean had a finger over his own lips, his gaze tensed, as he listened and waited, until the men chasing Javert had passed their position. As soon as their footsteps were far enough, they snuck away, vanishing into the dark.

* * *

**I´d like to say thank you to all of you who have read and followed this story so far. I´d also appreciate some feedback. Do you approve to the story? If there´s room for improvement, please let me know.**

**And once again, thanks for reading.**


	6. Message from Beyond the Grave

**Message from Beyond the Grave**

Javert shook his hands, throwing off the water he just used to wash away the blood. And he was well aware of the irony that he washed his hands in the river Seine. The river that almost would have taken his own life away, if it had been his choice.

"What is this, are you my guardian angel now?" he asked, over his shoulder, not quite daring to fully look Valjean in the eyes.

God, was all this really happening? It felt like hours, since they´d escaped from Gareaux´s house. But Javert knew that it was probably more like minutes. The perception started to elude a man when he went through something as traumatic as this. Seeing his old mentor die, by the bullet of an assassin, who was most likely sent by the same people who wanted him, Javert, dead.

What was wrong with this world? Javert ran a hand through his hair. He didn´t understand anymore. How could it come so far in only a few days?

"I´ve seen the man who did this." Valjean told him, gravely, and Javert swirled around. "From far away. He was gone before I could catch up with him. But I think I´ve seen his face."

For a moment Javert could barely believe what he heard.

"Would you recognize him?"

Valjean nodded.

"Good. Because I want this son of a bitch, you hear me? I want him to pay for this."

He knew he was glaring, like the devil himself. A dangerous look, frightening for most. But all Valjean did was look at him, and allow him to breath, to get over his anger. His grief.

"I´m sorry about your friend." he told him.

And Javert nodded. Nothing more. "Before he died … he told me there was a conspiracy." he forced his mind into a less destructive order. "Some … very powerful people, who helped to actually ensure this revolt. He said they poisoned Lamarque, moved troops. I wouldn´t be surprised if they even supplied the revolutionaries with weapons and gunpowder. To make sure as many as possible would die at those barricades."

"My god." Valjean breathed, totally shocked at this idea. "Whhho would do something like that?"

Javert sighed. "He didn´t know any names. But he knew it had to be someone very high. In the military. The police." He threw Valjean a poisonous glance but the other man didn´t make a comment about this. "Maybe even the city." Javert finished. "Maybe someone close to the mayor." At this he looked at Valjean with more care. "You were mayor once." he recalled. "You must know these things."

Valjean skipped back a little, uncomfortable under Javert´s stare, as if he had to be afraid of being caught telling a lie, even now.

"Who could do something like that?" the former inspector asked. "Who´d have the authority to give these kind of orders?"

"Ahm …" Valjean´s eyes looked about, as if searching for help along the abandoned riverbank. "That depends on the order." he attempted an answer to this interrogation. "There are certain executive orders that require the seal _and_ the hand of the mayor only. No one else could do this. But usually, if this is possible, things are done with minimal effort. To elevate efficiency and quantity. If something can be done without the mayor having to sign it by hand, a simple stamp or seal would be enough. And that is something everyone in the mayor´s office could get his hand on, if they know how."

Javert nodded. "Except for the order to eliminate someone." he mused, more to himself than to Valjean. "I´d say this would be strictly limited to the mayor´s hands only." He halted, thinking again. "But a signature can be faked of course."

"To … eliminate someone." Valjean repeated, aghast. "You say that as if this sort of order is totally normal … for the mayor of a city."

Javert regarded him, a little surprised. But then he smirked. "No." he said. "Of course _you_ never even heard of that. Never had to entertain the mere idea. Right, Monsieur Le Maire?"

"Of course not, Javert." Valjean burst out. "It´s murder."

"It´s called taking someone out." the former police man informed him, but seeing the expression in the other man´s eyes, he felt ashamed after all. He´d never fully approved to these things, but had accepted them as necessary evils, in the line of duty. Things that could not be but still were right. He lowered his gaze, realizing something.

"Sometimes these things are done …" he attempted an explanation. "For the best of the country … and its people."

"How can murder serve the best interest of the people, Javert?" Valjean objected, fiercely. And Javert gave him a warning glare, to not to approach this any further. But of course the old con could not stay away from this thin ice.

"Did you ever do this?" he demanded to know. "Did you ever … execute such an order?"

Javert glared even more now. "No." he rasped, and instantly lowered his gaze. "But I know people who did."

Valjean´s strength, gained by his anger over this scandal, vanished. "Oh my god." he breathed, swaying a little. But as soon as it had started it stopped, and the life long fugitive looked back at his life long pursuer. "And now it is you, who is the target of this order." he stated, as if he´d just remembered this fact. "Must feel strange to be on the other side all the sudden."

"What do you think, Valjean?" Javert hissed, spitting out the name as if it were something poisonous. "What do you think?"

But Valjean didn´t seem to be effected by his old foe´s anger. All he did was hold Javert´s flashing gaze, with little more than a sigh. "I think we should make a plan." he said, as if that question had been for real. "Because now every man of the guard will be looking for you. Not just some hitmen. Everyone. You are a convicted murderer now. And believe me. There are not many places on earth where you can hide."

"I don´t intent to hide." Javert replied. "I want them to pay."

"You can´t make anyone pay, if you don´t know whom to hunt."

"I might know how to find out a name." the former inspector announced, already turning away from Valjean.

"How?" the other man asked, but Javert didn´t turn back to him.

"I need to go back to that pharmacy." was all he said, leaving the river behind, knowing of course that Valjean would follow.

**...**

In his sickbed Marius looked so pale, as if there was no blood running through his veins any longer, and for a moment Cosette was sure, that his open eyes were dead, that he had died, just before she arrived and no one had noticed it yet. Her breath stopped at this thought, her heart ready to break. No, please. Fate couldn´t be that cruel.

But then he blinked, his eyes stayed closed for a moment, before they opened again to a distance so far away, Cosette could only guess it.

He hadn´t noticed her yet. And for an instant she was uncertain if she should dare to enter, and disturb his solitude. As if this was something treasured that only belonged to him, and disturbing it would be a violation, far worse than love allowed it. Just like her father´s solitude had been his own in all these years.

But even if she could have stayed here, unseen by him, eventually choosing to leave him alone, too scared to trespass into his world, the baron didn´t allow it.

"Marius." the old man spoke, gently but firm, and Cosette jumped at the unexpected sound of this quiet voice beside her. "Here´s someone to see you." he told his grandson.

Cosette´s heart started racing as Marius slowly turned his head, towards the voice. And without her noticing it, her feet started moving.

His eyes found her, but there was no change. He still looked as far away and withdrawn as he´d looked all this time before. Not even her smile seemed to reach him. The only reason why she knew he recognized her, was this little glimpse of pain that was shown in his eyes. The pain of recognition.

She sat down, on the bed beside him and cupped his cheek, gently caressing it.

"It´s me, Marius." she spoke, hoping, praying for a sign that he was still with her. Still the one she´d fallen in love with. That his love for her hadn´t died in his illness. "Please." she begged. "Please, I´m here now. You will be fine again." Tears began to blur her vision. "I promise."

The tear dropped out of her eye, sucked off by the already damp cover of the bed. "Please, Marius."

If he would only say her name, say anything at all. But he didn´t. Couldn´t. Even though she saw that he was trying. But in the end he couldn´t speak. Only look at her with this oh so painful gaze of his. And then it was _his_ tears who joined the sweat in his pillow. And all Cosette could do, was hold him, until it would be over.

**...**

"Monsieur le Secrétaire." Gisquet spoke, surprised, and Talbert turned around, posing as confident as possible. He knew what the police prefect wanted to ask, even before he spoke it out.

"What are you doing here?"

Talbert sighed, deeply. "I came here as soon as I heard. The death of an respected officer like Gareaux surely is worth a high priority investigation." He faced Gisquet. "You being here personally at this hour, proves it."

"Of course it is." the prefect agreed at once, and shook his head, sadly. "I still can´t believe Javert really did this. I´d thought him capable of many things but this …"

"You already know the name of the murderer?" Talbert was genuinely shocked, for different reasons than the prefect might think, but still.

"He was seen by the servant." Gisquet nodded. "And by the police men who chased him."

"You caught him?" Talbert was concerned, only for a moment. Until a familiar voice spoke up behind him.

"Not yet." Moreau stepped closer, joining them. "But we will. He can´t run forever. Monsieur le Secrétaire." he bowed as if greeting him respectfully, and Talbert mirrored the mocking gesture, in front of the prefect.

"Monsieur Gisquet." he addressed him again. "Please, do everything you can to find this man."

"I will assign my best men." Gisquet promised and Talbert nodded.

"You will have the mayor´s support. Everything you need. You just need to ask." Before Gisquet could address anything right away, Talbert excused himself, pretending to need fresh air, and walked out. He waited a few minutes, at the door, knowing that he wouldn´t be alone for long. And sure enough, Moreau joined him, a short time later.

"What happened?" Talbert demanded to know, without any transition. "I thought you had it all covered."

"Javert happened." was Moreau´s brusque answer, and Talbert could hear the _"I told you so"_, when he added: "He´s still here. Still investigating."

The secretary ran a hand over his chin, smoothing the beard, as he always did when he was nervous. He nodded, trying to hide his tension in front of this man.

"Might have left the city my ass." Moreau growled, and Talbert gave him a sharp glance.

"Watch your words."

"I did everything you asked me to do. I even made sure that Javert being here would not interfere with our goal."

"And you did well." Talbert had to give him that. "Having someone to blame for this, was actually better than a nameless murderer on the run. Especially when it is Javert."

"But he escaped. Someone helped him."

Talbert halted, almost believing that he must have heard wrong.

"Impossible."

But Moreau´s gaze told him clearly, that he could indeed believe it.

"The man doesn´t have any friends." Talbert recalled, as if the mere idea was ridiculous. "And right now every police man on the force knows that it would be suicidal for their careers _and_ lives to even sympathize with him. So who on earth should be stupid enough to help him?"

Instead of answering him, Moreau stepped closer, leaning in patronizingly. "Maybe you don´t know as much about your target as you claim you do."

Talbert, usually a man that knew the desk to be his fighting arena, stared into those arrogant eyes, and wished nothing more than to punch one of them to a heap of blue mousse.

"He can´t evade us forever." he stated, matter of factly. "We will find him, and shoot him down like a rabid dog."

"You don´t even know where to look for him. He´s still evading you, still fighting you. And now he has help."

This time Talbert was not giving a response, and in his lack of a reaction to work with, Moreau took the next best approach. "Maybe you should talk to your contractee." he suggested, and finally Talbert couldn´t control himself any longer.

"I don´t need to talk to him." he hissed at the man before him. "I don´t need to talk to anybody. I need you to do your job right."

"And _I_ need to know what we´ll do if I can´t." Moreau replied, not the least intimidated. "Because I don´t wanna go to prison for this. And I don´t wanna die either."

"None of us will go to prison." Talbert hissed, fed up with this. How often did they have to go over this? "We are acting for the good of the country."

"_I_ am." Moreau stated, visibly testing Talbert´s position. He probably hoped to catch the secretary in a lie, that he was not as dedicated to their cause as he was. But Talbert would not do him the favor. This man had no idea what he was talking about.

"And right now, Javert is a danger to this country." he went on, as if this interjection had never happened. "So would you please go out there and find him?"

Moreau didn´t say anything. He only glared, visibly having so much more to say. But eventually he nodded.

**...**

It was strange to come back here, to this place. When he´d been here the first time, it had only been to not to be rude, after the baron had been so generous. One quick errand on his way home had turned into something so strange, Valjean could barely believe it was really happening. Was he really here now, in the middle of the night, and with Javert on top of this?

How? How had all this happened so fast? Was he really working with the man he´d been running away from all these years? Valjean didn´t understand. Was this real? Or was he trapped in a bad dream? Maybe he´d died of shock after bringing Marius home, and was now living in purgatory. Or maybe he´d fallen ill from all the filth he´d walked through that night. Maybe he was lying in a fever dream.

But the images were too clear for a dream, the night´s air too cold to not to be real. And the ache in his back and legs were still so current, it just had to be real. When one was dead, he didn´t feel pain. And neither did he in a dream. At least not as far as Valjean remembered.

They reached the pharmacy – the back door, which had served them as their escape path – and Valjean tried the handle. It didn´t open.

"It´s locked." he told Javert and got shoved aside before he´d even finished.

"Stand guard." Javert instructed him, kneeling down busily, and Valjean threw a brief glance over his shoulder. The street was abandoned so far. When he looked again, the former inspector was busy picking the lock, right here before his eyes. Valjean believed to dream after all.

A moment later the door was open and Javert vanished inside. What else could Valjean do but to follow him?

"I didn´t know you could pick a lock." he spoke, quietly, while Javert lit a candle. And how did he know where to find it?

"There are many things about me that you don´t know." he mentioned, while he waited for the little flame to catch and grow larger.

"No, of course not." Valjean felt a little embarrassed. "I mean … you only hunted me all these years. We never came together, to just … talk."

At this Javert looked up, over the flame of the candle, and his eyes seemed to burn too, in the shadows that seemed so much darker now, in the bright light of the candle.

"And what would we possibly talk about?" he asked, one brow twitching. "24601."

Being addressed like that again, sufficiently silenced Valjean, which was probably exactly what the other man had intended. Javert turned away from him, illuminating the room. He spotted another candle and lit it too.

After that his gaze fell down, to the ground, and the blood that was still there. To one spot in particular. Valjean noticed that this time the shadow over his face was not from the lack of light in here. But before he could say anything, the former inspector tore his eyes away from the floor and demanded:

"Come on now. Start searching this place already."

Valjean was still not sure though. "For what?"

"A note, a ledger. A notebook. A letter carved in stone for all I care. Just something that tells us who is behind all this. Gareaux said she´d keep something, to prove who this man was that she saw that day."

Valjean watched Javert scanning the room with his eyes, briefly, before he turned to the little corner that was the kitchen and started to search the drawers.

"Who was this woman?" Valjean dared to ask, looking about himself. There was a small bureau on the wall, but except for the lowest drawer which contained old clothing, all the drawers were stacked with paper bags and bottles, some empty, some filled with powder or liquid. All of them neatly labeled.

"Except a pharmacist, I mean." He threw a glance over his shoulder, to Javert. "How did you know her? I mean … you did … know her. You said …"

"That doesn´t concern you." was the harsh response, and Javert marched through the room, through the door that obviously led to the bedroom.

"I was just trying to make some conversation." Valjean closed the drawer. "No need to get snippy."

Javert didn´t answer. He probably hadn´t even heard it. Valjean could hear him rummage in the other room. The bedroom of a woman he had known.

Why did this idea startle Valjean so much? Maybe because Javert had never seemed to be one that socialized much. If he did it at all. And a woman even. He claimed not to care about her, but the gaze he´d thrown at the blood spoke otherwise. And so did Javert´s own words, back at Valjean´s house. He´d called her an angel. That she´d saved his life. She had meant something to him. So why did he deny this now? Valjean couldn´t understand this mindset. How could a man be so cold? Surely not even Javert could be made of stone, could he?

And then, all the sudden, the sounds of Javert´s searching stopped, and Valjean heard paper, faintly rustling. Instantly he was in the door. Javert sat on the bed, a piece of paper in hand, staring at it.

"What did you find?"

Javert didn´t answer, he just kept staring at the paper, so Valjean crossed the room – two steps, and he was beside him – to see for himself.

It was a drawing. A man´s face, rough but recognizable. As if it had been drawn from memory. The man was blonde, had intense eyes, thick eyebrows and a beard that covered only his chin. Rough at best but if Valjean would have to find this man in a crowd, he was sure he could.

"Who is this?" he asked, but Javert shook his head. In his lack of another clue he turned the page around, taking a desperate chance that this would bring anything new. And he was surprised, just like Valjean, to indeed find something there. On the back were scribbled notes, single words, half sentences, that looked as if they were once pieces of a conversation.

"Seems she did a lot from memory." Valjean mentioned, watching the other man´s reaction closely. And hadn´t he known him for that long – the long periods of avoiding him, didn´t seem to matter in this regard – Valjean would have missed the little heave of breath Javert took in, as he turned his face to stone once again, in his effort to suppress whatever reaction this comment had caused in him.

He didn´t value the comment with a response. Instead he visibly turned back to the notes, reading through them, as if focusing on this, was the hardest thing in the world, something that required all his attention.

Valjean craned his neck, to read it too. It wasn´t much, and cryptic at best. But this woman, whoever she´d been had done her best to summarize what she´d heard.

_unknown visitor: ... they (?) got Périer ... dead (killed) ...  
_

_le Officier: ... heard he died of Cholera ... (lie?)_

_ will find us too ... criminals (?) ... ways to find things from nothing ... found him, could find us_

_ Lamarc (?) as good as dead ... committed kids ... death as sign_

_ ... poisoned him too slow ...  
_

_ faster would raise questions_

_ men ready?_

_ Of course. ... hope your friends will appreciate efforts ... as promised_

_... will show their gratitude ... make sure the one responsible for the _

_ counterinsurgency won´t live_

_... tries to get his position back ... won´t be able to resist ... play right into our hands_

Most of those words didn´t mean anything to Valjean. It indeed sounded as if whoever this man – an officer of some sort – had been talking to, was plotting something. Something that would indeed lead to those battles at the barricades. Friends? Someone to show appreciation? So whoever these men had been they´d been hired by someone? Was that it?

Valjean tried to make heads and tails of this. This name at the beginning. Périer. He´d heard it before. A banker, wasn´t it? He´d read about him in the Moniteur once or twice. Not the kind of person that would make it to his top ten favorites in the world. If it was the same man, he´d been murdered, as it seemed. By someone … Someone who was at those people´s tail. Trying to stop them?

Valjean sighed. It was all so unclear. Out of the context, these words could have meant anything. There were no names to help them understand it any better. No places. No dates. Nothing. And he doubted that this woman had known much more about what she´d written down.

And yet, something among those words seemed to tell Javert something. Enough to startle him into looking up, tensed, all the sudden.

"What?" Valjean asked. "What is it?"

Javert didn´t answer. He just jumped up, and rushed out of the room. "Come." he ordered, already at the front door. Valjean could only hurry to catch up.

"Where are we going?"

Javert peeked out, checking the street. He glanced back at Valjean, only for a second, just long enough to answer his question.

"We need to save a life."

And with that he was gone. Valjean, once again, had no choice but to follow.


	7. How to Save a Life

**How to Save a Life**

Javert didn´t speak anything on their way, except for the name of the man they were about to save. God, what did he expect them to do? Valjean was close to believe the former inspector had lost his mind at last. What in all these scribbled notes had given him the idea that this man, Lecomte, could be in danger? As far as Valjean had understood it, Lecomte had been the one responsible for the strange movements of troops, connected with the battles. Didn´t that rather mean he was one of their suspects? But obviously Javert saw it differently. Obviously he considered it more important to protect this man, instead of looking into his case.

The house he led Valjean to was small but very nice. Definitely one of the better places in Paris. There were only two lights left, that late at night. One in a room upstairs and one in a small window on the ground floor. Probably the chamber of a servant.

Javert led them to yet another back door, and drew a gun from under his coat, handing it to Valjean.

"I know you know how to use one of these." he said. "Only not how good you are. Just try not to hit me. Or yourself. Understood?"

With this he turned away, not caring about how startled he´d just left Valjean, and once again got busy with the lock of the door.

The gun felt heavy in Valjean´s hands, more heavy even than the gun he´d held at the barricades, supposedly to shoot the spy Javert with it. Only this time Javert had put it into his hands, and for a moment Valjean actually wondered if it was even loaded. Surely this was some sort of test. Javert could not seriously trust him enough to hand him a loaded gun. Maybe he´d lost his mind after all.

The door went open as willingly under the skilled hands of the former inspector, as the first he´d picked in this night. Valjean´s heart leaped into his throat, as he followed him inside. Last time it had been an abandoned place, of a dead woman. Now they were truly trespassing into an occupied home. Not quite what he´d imagined doing, or being connected with. And that after all those years of laying low, avoiding to break the law and draw attention. What was he doing here?

Javert led them upstairs, with certain steps, as if he´d been here before. Maybe he was. This Lecomte was a police man after all, probably a colleague. Maybe a superior. One of those who ordered Javert´s death? And at this a dreadful thought crossed Valjean´s mind.

We need to save a life, Javert had said. Maybe, in the end, he´d not talked about this man, Lecomte, but himself. Maybe Javert had come here with the plan to kill Lecomte, to save himself, and blame the murder on him, Valjean. Was that the reason why he´d handed _him_ the gun?

But this thought came too late for him to stop and turn around. They´d already reached the writing room of this unsuspecting Capitaine Lecomte. For a second, Valjean played with the thought to call out a warning, but it was too late even for that. Javert opened the door, almost casually and drew a second gun from under his coat.

The man sitting behind his desk, over a heap of papers, looked up, probably expecting his servant, and paled when he saw who´d really entered.

"Javert!" he cried, instantly reaching under the table. Valjean heard the sound of a drawer.

"Lecomte." Javert nodded, with an arched brow, aiming his gun at the man as if it was a simple gesture of politeness. "I bet you a good evening, Capitaine. I´m here to save your life."

The next thing Valjean knew was that Lecomte was holding a gun too, aiming it at Javert. "That is hard to believe from a man that aims a gun at me." he said.

"You´re a wanted fugitive, Javert. A murderer."

"I didn´t kill Gareaux." Javert stated. "You should know me better than that."

"His most loyal servant saw you." Lecomte returned. "Running from his corpse, red handed."

"He saw nothing that really mattered."

Javert had started this last statement, shouting, but forced himself to talk quietly after the first word. Only the redness in his face, showed how he really felt.

When he was finished, the two men just stared at each other in silence, as if none of them knew how to go on. And Valjean, trapped right in the middle of this without knowing why, took it upon himself to speak and clear this situation. Someone had to do it, for cry out loud.

"I saw the real shooter." he told Lecomte. "Javert is speaking the truth."

Or at least I hope so, he added in his mind.

Lecomte considered his words, for a moment, regarding Javert carefully. The former inspector was unreadable. At least to Valjean. And to Lecomte too, as it seemed.

"Tell me how I´m supposed to believe you, under such circumstances." the Capitaine demanded, and finally Javert reconsidered his tactic.

A moment went by, then another. Eventually Valjean had the honor to watch in amazement, how Javert took down his gun and lay it on the edge of Lecomte´s desk.

Everything inside him tensed, unsure what to expect next. Would Lecompte shoot now, disregarding Valjean´s gun? Would Javert attack, having only distracted Lecomte with this surrender? Would he draw a third, hidden gun?

But all Javert did, was spreading his arms, to the officer. "If you want to shoot me, go ahead." he spoke. "But that won´t save you. Or solve this riddle."

Lecomte frowned, very slightly, at this. "Save me from what?"

"You are on a list, my friend." Javert told him. "We both are. They already tried to kill me, and they succeeded in killing Gareaux. Now it is your turn."

Lecompte´s mouth twitched in a smirk, and his eyes checked Valjean´s gun for a moment. The only threat left for him in this room. He seemed to estimate his chances well, before shaking his head. Just as he was about to do something, Valjean wasn´t sure what – speaking, shooting, even laughing – Javert spoke again.

"You didn´t by any chance, give some orders concerning troop movements lately, did you, Francois?"

Lecomte´s eyes darted to Valjean again, before he answered: "No." The Capitaine rose from his seat, very self conscious, and Javert cocked a brow.

"Well, someone did. And I´m sure you know who. There are only a few people who could speak in your name, giving such orders. And as soon as you find out, you´d be a risk that can´t be tolerated any longer. Since they have already started to clean up, I don´t think they would have waited until you found out on your own."

"Who are you talking about?" Lecomte wanted to know. "Do you know who they are?"

"This is the second reason why I´m here. The man who is behind all this will be here soon. I want to get him."

"So this is only about your revenge?" Valjean couldn´t stop himself, the words were out of him before he knew it.

Javert glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "This man can tell us who´s behind all this." he clarified. "We need to question him. This … is why I´m here."

Lecomte thought very hard, for a moment. "So you don´t have any names, just yet." he asked, for one last confirmation.

"We will have a name soon." Javert promised and as if on cue, there was a noise downstairs. Clattering as if something got thrown down.

"You believe us now?" Javert faced Lecomte. "They´re staging it like a robbery."

Valjean inched to the door, listening. "I hear at least three men."

There was the muffled voice of a man, startled, probably the servant, and then muffled cries of panic, as he got overpowered. Valjean tensed, and reached for the door handle. Only Javert wouldn´t let him.

"No." he blocked his way. "This is what they want." As they heard footsteps coming up the stairs, he quickly looked around. "Take cover." he commanded, and took his gun again, from the desk. Lecomte already took cover behind the desk, and in his lack of another place to hide, Valjean followed.

"You pick out the leader for me." Javert ordered him. "Take out the others."

With that he marched back to the door, his gun at the ready, and for a moment he just stood there, waiting for them. In the very last second he reconsidered and took his position beside the door, his back flattened against the wall. And this turned out to be the right decision. The footsteps halted just outside, and instead of entering the room, three shots were fired through the closed door. Had Javert still been there, he´d been dead.

Valjean met Javert´s gaze, and Javert stamped down his foot, imitating the sound of someone dropping dead. The door opened and three men stood there, startled to say the least to see no bleeding man on the ground before them.

Javert threw Valjean an expecting glance, but he could only shake his head.

"It´s neither of them." he told them, and his words finally made the men understand, that there was someone lurking for them, behind the door.

One of them aimed at Valjean, and Valjean, more reacting by instinct than by conscious choice, pulled the trigger. The man fired his shot but too late. He didn´t hit anything, and dropped to the ground, holding his chest, in disbelieve.

Beside Valjean the Capitaine shot too, and another man dropped dead. The third one was at Javert. Or Javert at him, Valjean was unable to tell. Until the arm of the strange attacker got pushed down, and the last shot echoed in the room. The man tensed, staring at Javert, and slowly dropped to the ground, still holding his guts.

Javert leaned over him, hasted. "Listen to me, man. You´re hit in the abdomen. You will bleed to death from the inside. This is a painful death. And very slow. If you tell me what I want to know I´ll make it quick for you, I promise. Who are you working for?"

Valjean watched with dread, how the man turned his head, to look at his dead comrades. His eyes were already half closed, but he was still very conscious.

"I only receive the orders … from a messenger." he told Javert. "We don´t use names, you should know that …"

"And who´s your delivery man? Where can I find him?"

"You can´t. There are too many." Javert grabbed the man´s collar but failed to intimidate him. "I told you what I know." was all he´d get.

"Who´s next in line, after you?" Javert demanded. "Come on, give me something."

But he didn´t get what he wanted.

"You gave me your word." the man coughed, through bloody teeth.

Javert was fuming at this lack of information. Valjean expected him to beat the man, in his frustration. But he didn´t. He just let go of him.

"Yeah." he affirmed, and got up, taking his gun.

"Javert." Valjean´s heart stumbled, in fear, but Javert didn´t even react.

Beside Valjean Lecomte held out his arm, to keep Valjean away. And by the door, Javert aimed his gun at the already dying man. There was nothing in his eyes but coldness, when he pulled the trigger, sending a bullet into a man´s heart.

For a moment Valjean felt numb, the echo of the shot still resounding in his ears, followed by a faint ringing, that lasted strangely in the deadly silence that followed. The footsteps of Lecomte approaching Javert seemed to come from far away. So did his voice when he asked: "What are we doing now?"

Javert took a moment to think about this.

"You should report a robbery." he decided at last. "After all. This is what this was supposed to look like. And then you should leave the city. Disappear for a while."

Lecomte nodded. "I will see what I can find out from afar." he promised. "If I do, you´ll hear from me." When he offered Javert his hand, the other man did not accept it. Maybe he was not completely cold about what he´d just done, after all. Surely he had to feel something, after murdering a man like this. Only Valjean couldn´t see it. He saw nothing.

Eventually Lecomte lowered his hand again. "Thank you, my friend." he spoke, and yet again, Javert did not react.

Outside there were voices now, and Javert´s eyes found Valjean. "We should take our leave." he said, but Valjean couldn´t move.

"Where will you go?" Lecomte asked. "In case I need to find you."

The former inspector thought for a moment, considering. "I believe it is better if you don´t know that." he then replied. "Don´t worry. I will reach you somehow."

The Capitaine seemed hesitant. But then there were voices again, downstairs, and someone who called out: "Police!"

No time for any of them to reconsider anything.

Reluctantly Lecomte hurried outside, and Javert took Valjean´s arm, dragging him behind. He indeed knew this house, because the way they took to get out was different than the one they´d taken to get in. A narrow staircase in the back, hidden from view. Valjean just followed, numb and out of pure survival instinct. He thought of Cosette, and that she expected to see him again. He could not get arrested. Not with this man in tow. It would be just a joke of fate, if he´d allow this.

When they were back in the streets, and safe from discovery, Javert finally stopped dragging him behind, and turned to look at him. When he noticed the gun was still in Valjean´s hands, he reached out with a faint smirk and took it. As if he´d be doing him a favor.

"So now …" he asked, as if Valjean´s pale complexion was even amusing him. "How does it feel? To have taken a life instead of saving one?"


	8. Three Weeks Later

**Three weeks Later**

The day was light, the sun shining brightly from the blue sky, as Valjean watched his daughter lead the boy through the garden of his grandfather´s house. Marius had gotten better each day, and it was more than just obvious that it was Cosette´s presence that kept him going, healing him faster than any medicine could do it. He was still limping but he walked better, day by day. Soon he´d be recovered, Valjean could tell. Soon he´d walk strong enough again on his own, to take Cosette´s arm instead. And with that her hand.

Valjean closed his eyes. He wished he could be happy for them. But all he could feel was dread. Not even the sunny day could cheer him up. His chest was tight, and it had been tight these last three weeks. Ever since that awful night, at the house of one Capitaine Lecomte.

He´d not heard of Javert ever since they´d parted that night, and he did not intent to seek him out. As far as he was concerned the former inspector could stay wherever he was, hiding from his pursuers or hunting for them in his bloodlust. Valjean didn´t care. He didn´t want to have anything to do with it. This one time had been enough. Especially after the disappearance of poor Toussaint´s friend and her husband.

People said they had left the city for family matters, but somehow Valjean didn´t dare to believe that. They had asked questions for Javert and now they were gone. He had followed Javert and three men had died. Right after the man Javert himself had questioned got killed in the inspector´s presence. And this poor pharmacist … she too had died. It seemed as if death was following wherever this man went. Valjean´s soul got ice cold just thinking of it.

Cosette´s heartily laughter echoed through the garden, joined by that of Marius and the baron. Yes, those people were happy. At least someone who could be. The blessing of unawareness. May it always remain that way. May they never learn. Never.

"Monsieur?" the old Madame Pontier addressed him, and Valjean flinched, out of his dark musing. "There´s a …" she halted, briefly. "A man who wants to see you."

He could tell that she had been about to use the word gentleman, but had changed her mind, just before the word had left her tongue. There was something strange in her eyes, distaste maybe, as if the person she referred to did not quite fit her idea of a suitable person at all. Or maybe a presentable person?

"Who is it?" he asked, getting up from his seat.

She only shook her head. "He didn´t say his name, Monsieur." The old lady tried unsuccessfully to hide her disgust. The man in question had to be something … unusual. Not the sort of guest these people were used to.

Valjean followed her back inside, curious to say the least, and naturally headed for the front door. Mme Pontier stopped him though, and gestured for the back. Her gaze was tensed. Valjean could tell that she didn´t feel well about the idea of him actually going to see this … man. And just thinking of what had happened these last few weeks, Valjean felt uncomfortable about the idea as well.

Could it be Javert? He was definitely a man who would cause a reaction like this at an old woman. Only it hadn´t been fear Valjean had seen in her eyes. The expression he´d seen, was more about disgust, and he knew that sort of disgust only from people who despised certain degrees of poverty. People who felt uncomfortable around those who could not afford to bath each day, or change their old clothes. People who maybe feared to catch an illness from the poor. And none of this was anything Javert would represent.

Curiosity eventually got the better of Valjean. Whoever this man was, he must have a reason to seek him out. The question how this person knew that he was here, at this hour, didn´t occur to him – yet.

He reached the back door. It was standing ajar, just a bit, and he could see the man waiting there, in the backyard. He had his back to Valjean, as if the street was more interesting than the yard. He wore old, used up clothes, dirty and ripped in many places. His skull was almost without hair and the beard, Valjean could see, even from behind, was thick, and not well-tended.

His guess had been correct then. Madame Pontier´s reaction had been about the social status of his man. A beggar maybe, that had heard of him being a generous giver? Sometimes they found their ways to the doors of people. If they had the courage to knock. Some of them even made a science out of this, Valjean knew. With secret signs they drew on the walls, so others of their trade would know if it was worthwhile to knock on this door, or wiser to stay away from another. Was this man one of them?

Valjean cleared his throat. "Monsieur?"

The man swirled around, startled by his voice, and Valjean faced two hideous eyes. Steel blue and just as piercing as he remembered them.

"My God." he exclaimed as he stared at Javert, in utter shock.

The man that once had been a police inspector chuckled, amused. "Well, if that isn´t a nice greeting."

Before Valjean knew what was happening, Javert shoved him inside, out of public sight. If anyone would come past this spot that was.

"What happened to you?" was all Valjean knew to ask, and this time the reaction he got, was a startled one.

"What?" Javert retorted, and spread his arms, indicating his appearance. "This was your idea. Now it disturbs you that I actually took your advice?" He shook his head, checking the hallway for listeners, all in one move. "Seriously, Valjean. Sometimes I wonder if anything ever satisfies you."

An angry huff escaped Valjean´s throat. "What do you want here? How do you even know where I was?"

"You and your daughter came here every day these last two weeks." Javert rolled his eyes. "It wasn´t that hard to guess."

"Are you spying on us?"

"It´s called observance. And logical thinking. The girl´s in love and you would never bring it over you to deny her anything. So of course you´re here every day."

Once again Valjean felt this sensation in his chest. One he had believed not to be capable of anymore. Aversion.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice cold and hard. Javert had to feel quite at home with this. But he barely reacted to it, ignoring the hostile tone.

"I need your help." he told Valjean. "I believe I found the man who shot Gareaux. But I need you to tell me for sure."

Valjean narrowed his eyes, unable to believe what was happening here. This man really expected him to just come running, now that he showed up at his doorstep, after he clearly didn´t want to have anything to do with him these last three weeks. As if nothing at all had happened. As if he had a right to just command him, to do his bidding.

"No." he told him, cold and clear, and finally Javert reacted. He actually had the nerve to be surprised. "I´m not helping you anymore." Valjean stated. "I´m not helping you to murder any more people. You already made me a murderer."

"I didn´t make you anything." Javert hissed, into his face. "It was your choice to pull the trigger. You could have let this man shoot first and maybe kill us all, but you didn´t. You took the smart choice and now you beat yourself up because of it?"

"I guess shooting someone to death is something very familiar to you, but it is not for me."

Valjean looked into those cold, uncaring eyes, and it felt like a slap in the face, when Javert started to smile and chuckle.

"Now look how things have changed." he sounded almost satisfied. "The ex convict is afraid to be corrupted by the police man."

"You´re not a police man anymore." Valjean corrected. He gave him the once over, not able to hide his abhorrence. "I´m not sure anymore, _what_ you are."

From one moment to the next the calm and mocking man was gone, replaced by a furious one, and Javert grabbed Valjean, by the collar, keeping him from turning away.

"Then join the club, Valjean." he hissed, and the flashing of his eyes gave Valjean a fright, for a moment. "You think this is what I wanted to become?" the former police man snarled. "You think I run around like this by choice? I never wanted to go back to this." Something inside Valjean instantly caught this inbetween sentence, storing it away for later, when he was free again to think clearly. For now the inspector was still in his face. "But something is going on." Javert recalled for him. "And this something demands some sacrifices."

"Like the life of a man, who would have needed a doctor instead of a bullet in his heart?" Valjean didn´t know how he managed it to let his voice sound even, but somehow he´d hit the mark. Javert let go of him.

"This man would have died anyway, with or without a doctor, you know that as well as I do. I only did him a favor."

"You can tell that yourself as much as you want." Valjean straightened his jacket. "I´ll not get involved in any of this."

"You already _are_ involved, Valjean." Javert stated, matter of factly, but Valjean was adamant. He turned away, to leave, to return to Cosette and Marius, and the happy life they would have soon.

"You read the papers?" Javert asked, behind him, and Valjean halted. "You know that the mayor´s chief of staff has resigned. In favor for someone new."

Valjean, once in his life a mayor himself, felt something stir in his guts, and turned back around. Javert was smiling.

"You know how these things work." he nodded. "You know that this is no coincidence."

Valjean looked about, for any listener that might be there, before he returned to the uninvited guest.

"What do you want from me, Javert?" he hissed, fed up with this game.

Javert smiled triumphantly, only for a moment. "Identify the shooter for me." he demanded.

"What will you do to him, if I do?"

"Question him."

"How?"

"However I have to, to make him talk."

But Valjean shook his head. Not good enough. Not after that night. When he turned away again, Javert wouldn´t let him. He grabbed him, with an iron claw.

"This is about more than just a single life, Valjean." he hissed. "Don´t pretend that you´re so above everything. You need to get out of your pretty little life. Stop telling yourself that running away will solve your problems. You can´t hide from your problems. And you can´t outrun them either. We both have a duty to fulfill here, and whether you like it or not, whether _I_ like it or not, we´re both in this together. And you will help me solve this, do you understand? That much at least you owe me."

After that he let go of him again, but something about the way he´d said this last sentence, had startled Valjean, deep inside, on a place he couldn´t even name. Something about the former inspector´s tone, and the expression in his eyes, had grabbed his conscience and wouldn´t let him go, even now that he was free again. He had no idea how Javert had managed it to capture him like that, only with a gaze. Something he had never managed in almost twenty years. And now he couldn´t just walk away from him. How? Why?

Valjean didn´t know the answer. All he knew was that eventually he nodded, and that Javert mirrored this nod. If he understood it or not. They had a deal.

**...**

Moreau exited the station-house, glad to finally get away from this idiot Marcel, behind his stupid desk and his even more stupid stack of files. It had been just a drunk that had peed against a house. Who needed a report for his arrest? In two days he´d be back on the street, drunk again, peeing against the next house, only to be picked up and thrown into the next drunk cell. Idiots. Drunks. Vermin wherever the gaze went. Sometimes he hated this place.

"Stressed?" a voice asked beside him, and Moreau managed a tired smirk.

"Did you meet Marcel?" he asked, and Felix the young Sergeant laughed.

"I think I heard of him. But don´t worry. He´s only on the day shift. Having him in the night shift would be worse."

"Oh God." Moreau groaned, only by the idea of it. Imagining how much more complicated everything would become if Marcel would insist on a report for each whore they arrested at night, for inappropriate behavior. For every drunk that shouted at a citizen for no reason, for every thief that used the cloak of darkness for his deeds, every bunch of street rats that got in a brawl. Dear God, wasn´t there a way to get rid of Marcel, quickly and quietly? He could wait until he walked home … the streets were dangerous at night.

"I´m just glad this pop eye is gone." Felix mentioned, interrupting Moreau´s sweet day dream. "That guy really started to get on my nerves."

"Who do you mean?" was there a new colleague in the district he hadn´t noticed yet?

"A _What_ is more like it." Felix replied. "A beggar, but what an example. He was here all day."

"Was he molesting you?" Moreau smirked. "Threaten him with prison, that usually scares them off."

"He wasn´t begging for money. Just hung about here, gawking. Seriously, as if he had nothing better to do. I swear to you, I was so close to actually make up some charges, anything to get rid of this guy."

"But he´s gone now, right?" Moreau searched the place.

"Yes, thanks God." Felix exclaimed. "I know we´re not supposed to make up charges." he added, suddenly afraid Moreau could have taken him serious. "I was just kidding."

"Never mind this." Moreau set his mind at rest. "I know how stress can get to you." He gave his young colleague an understanding gaze. "You ever heard the name Marcel?" he asked, to prove his point.

And Felix laughed.

**...**

Javert peeked around the corner, just long enough to see the man in question, pad his colleague on the back, before making his way over the place, looking around suspiciously. As if he felt watched. How right he was.

Javert dragged Valjean to the corner, hurridly. "Is that him?" he asked, and Valjean looked.

He took his time, and Javert had to restrain himself not to shout at him to get it done already. But eventually Valjean nodded.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. It was way darker back then but … yeah. It is him. He has a scar that I recognize."

"All right." Javert was satisfied. He threw a glance at the man again, just as he vanished out of sight.

"What will you do now?" Valjean wanted to know.

"I´ll wait for him. I know where he lives."

"I´ll go with you."

Javert faced the other man, frowning. "I thought you didn´t want to have anything to do with my methods."

"And that hasn´t changed."

Javert understood "You think you can protect this man from me?" He couldn´t help but had to laugh at this. "Well, if that isn´t cute." His smile vanished as quickly as it had come, and the former inspector peeked around the corner, one more time. Moreau hadn´t come back. No one payed attention to them. Good.

He turned back to Valjean, still so determined, uncompromising. He truly wouldn´t let Javert do this alone. Wouldn´t give him free hand with this man´s life. Dear God.

"All right then …" Javert nodded. "Partner." And he padded Valjean´s shoulder, a little too hard maybe for comfort.

**...**

"Madame Pontier?" Cosette addressed the elderly servant. "Did you see my father? He was here just … a while ago."

"Oh Monsieur Fauchelevent left." Pontier answered, already hurrying on, but Cosette stopped her.

"Left? Where to? Why didn´t he say anything?"

"Cosette?" Marius limped closer to them, frowning about his love´s anguish all the sudden.

"Do you know where he went?" Cosette just kept asking the servant, and Pontier shook her head.

"No, Mademoiselle. Not where to."

Cosette knew instantly what the unspoken implication was. "But you know with whom."

The poor servant cast down her eyes. "There was a … a man. He asked to see your father. Probably wanted to beg some alms from him."  
For a moment Cosette was off balance. Alms? Pontier sounded as if she talked about a beggar. But that couldn´t be right. She could feel, deep in her bones that it was Javert, who had kidnapped her father.

"Cosette, what´s the matter?" Marius finally reached her, resting on his crutches. But Cosette didn´t know what to tell him. Other than: "Papa has left. He …" and that was as far as she managed to get.

Marius saw that something more was troubling her, she could see that in his eyes. But of course he couldn´t know what it was. How could he? He hadn´t been there, that night, when the inspector had come to their house. He hadn´t seen his cold eyes, hadn´t heard his cruel words. He didn´t know that her father was in danger. In grave danger.

"Cosette." Marius reached out for her, concerned, as he saw her inner turmoil getting worse and worse. "Please, what is it?"  
But all she could do was shake her head.

"Please, Madame Pontier." she addressed the servant again. "Tell me instantly when he returns. Will you?"

And the elderly lady nodded, startled. "Of course I will."

**...**

Valjean was glad that for a change they didn´t wait until it got dark to go through with this plan. Obviously Javert didn´t think it necessary to use the cover of the night. Or he simply got impatient. In any case it wasn´t a healthy combination. Neither was the house this man Moreau lived in.

The front door was already hanging askew and the condition of the stairwell was even worse. Valjean could see three steps alone on the first flight that were uneven, the plaster fell off the walls and when he looked up there was a wooden beam, holding the next flight, so rotten it would probably give in with the next best ball, thrown by a playing kid, bringing it all down. Was Javert really sure they were in the right place?

He seemed to be. As soon as they reached the first floor at the end of this long and rotten stairs, he turned to one of the doors, with great certainty, and knelt down, to open it. Once again, like a professional, with skills so remarkable, it so didn´t fit the picture of a just man of the police.

"You never told me where you learned to do that." Valjean mentioned as soon as they were inside.

"No." was all Javert would respond. "I didn´t."

Valjean sighed. "Are you sure he lives here? This house looks like it would break down when someone looks at it the wrong way. Do police men earn that little?"

Javert only gave him a look. "This is his place." was all he´d say. Nothing more. And Valjean just didn´t have the heart to poke any further.

He had never put much thought into how much a police man got payed for his duty. A duty that as well could cost his life. Like Javert had almost lost his life behind the barricades. Like many of his man _did_ lose theirs on the barricades. And now that he looked about this poor excuse of an apartment, it was obvious that the man who lived here could not earn that much money. No wonder, some of them used all the power the state gave into their hands, merciless and hungrily.

Valjean had seen Javert do it. But he´d also seen others do it, much worse than Javert. If Javert´s home was only a little better than this, he was more than just a fanatic cop. If his worldly reward was that small, there must be some higher motivation for him than simply doing his job. Because Valjean knew – he just knew – that Javert, unlike others, had never lost his sense for right and wrong. That´s what Valjean had always admired about the inspector. That´s what he´d always respected. And now that he was standing here, in this hole of an apartment, he remembered again why.

Javert glanced at him, noticing his frown, and asked a brusque: "What?"

Valjean only shook his head. "Nothing." he claimed. "Nothing."

Javert studied him for another moment, suspiciously, as if trying to catch Valjean with a lie. Always the inspector. But Valjean didn´t give him anything to work with – always the fugitive. And so Javert turned away from him, searching the place, methodically. And yet another thing he seemed accustomed to. Searching apartments. What other routines had this police man gathered over the years?

When he found what he wanted – what man kept a rope under his bed? – Javert went to the chair at the tiny desk, and started to tie the rope around the armrests and the backrest. Ideal to bind someone quickly and efficiently, as soon as their victim arrived.

Valjean felt a knot in his stomach. He tried his best to remind himself that the man they were waiting for, was probably a criminal. Worse. A murderer. He´d seen him shoot a man through a window himself. So why did he feel so uncomfortable at the idea of attacking and binding him to a chair? Maybe because of what would happen to the man after that?

He didn´t get the chance to think this through. There were footsteps outside, in the staircase, and a moment later someone put a key into the lock. Javert jumped, and hurried to the door. He gestured for Valjean, and of course Valjean had no choice but to comply. He was here. He had agreed to this. There was no going back now.

When the door opened, they attacked, and it was surprisingly easy to secure the man. Moreau struggled, but against the two of them, especially Valjean, he had no chance. Only a minute after he´d entered his own apartment unsuspecting, he was bound to his chair, glaring up at the two intruders, furious.

Javert noticed his lack of fear too.

"You know who I am." he stated, a little surprised about the missing reaction of a man that clearly had to know he was in trouble now.

"Indeed." Moreau hissed, and gave Javert the once over. Unbelievable but he actually managed it, even in his position, to look arrogant. "Although I would have never guessed that you could let yourself go like that, inspector."

Javert leaned over the man, hands on his wrists for emphasis. "If I were you I´d start to take this a little more serious." he hissed.

"Oh, I am taking this serious." Moreau replied, unimpressed. "You are the one who doesn´t seem to realize how serious this is. Otherwise you would have left the city by now. Maybe even the country."

Valjean saw the realization creep into the former inspector´s gaze.

"What is all this about?" he demanded to know. "Speak now."

But Moreau only shook his head, and the gesture spoke loud and clear: No chance, buddy.

Javert straightened, looking down on the man before him. The man that was at his mercy just now.

"I don´t think they´re paying you enough money so you´re ready to die for these people." he spoke, but failed yet again to intimidate the man.

"I´m not only doing this for the money." Moreau stated, fiercely. "Or why do you think I´m still here, even after you killed three of my men? I am a patriot. Just like you. Only I am not on a black list."

"Black list?"

"Why do you think they wanted you dead? You think this story about blaming someone for the barricades is true? That this is all there is to it?" Moreau snorted. "And we were actually concerned you could be dangerous."

Valjean flinched more than Moreau did, when Javert grabbed the man´s throat. "I´ll show you how dangerous I can be." he snarled into his face. "Why did they want me dead? And who are they?"

"You were the perfect blame." Moreau smirked, triumphantly, as he told him this. "They know where you come from, it was easy to pin all this on you."

There again. Valjean heard it instantly, and he was not surprised anymore about Javert´s reaction, when he let go of the man before him, his hand suddenly weak in his shock.

"You think it was coincidence that Gareaux died when you were with him?" Moreau went on, mercilessly. "And this woman?"

This at last brought Javert back around, and he narrowed his eyes at Moreau.

"You … You were the one who killed Marianne."

Moreau shrugged. "In a matter of speaking. You can kill someone with a knife. Or a word."

Again Javert was at him. "So you can give an order, but actually doing it with your own hands is something too dirty for you?" he hissed.

"Spare me the lecture about her." Moreau replied, fearlessly. "You can´t seriously think that she was innocent."

"I know she was a spy for Gareaux." Javert deflected the argument, but Moreau shook his head.

"No. That´s too simple, inspector. Or do you really think she saved your sorry ass from jumping off that bridge, because she thought it was her duty?"

Valjean´s head snapped around, staring at Javert. "Or because she liked you so much?" Moreau went on, and Javert choked him, harder this time.

"How do you know about that?" he demanded to know.

And all Moreau did was smile at him, smugly. "What do you think?" he croaked under the angry man´s grip. "She told me. Just before she died. Not everyone can stand pain, inspector. And you will know that pain is a good way to loosen someone´s tongue."

There was something poisonous in Javert´s eyes, when he replied, coldly: "Indeed."

And the next thing Valjean knew was, that Javert had drawn a knife, and stabbed it, without a warning, into the bound man´s shoulder.

Moreau screamed, in pain, his eyes wide with agony, and all Javert did was holding the knife in the wound, his face distorted with anger.

"Who do you work for?" he shouted the question at the panting man. And Moreau glared up at him.

"You know I can´t tell you." He held Javert´s death glare, amazingly brave, considering the pain he must be in. "I would never betray my country." he stated. "Just like you would never betray the uniform you used to wear."

Valjean watched with dread, how Javert´s face was frozen with this expression of hate and anger, as he turned the knife, inside the wound, inflicting more pain yet again. And once again Moreau screamed.

"Dare you talking to me about honoring the uniform." Javert spoke, full of hate. "You are a traitor to this uniform, to this whole country."

"No, I´m not." Moreau panted, turning his head to look up at him. "You are. Or you will be. When we´re done, you´ll be the worst traitor this country has ever seen. If you kill me or not."

"Why?" Valjean heard himself ask, startling not only the two other men. "Why him?"

Javert and Moreau both looked at him, as if they just now remembered him being there.

"Because they knew he´d never help them." Moreau answered, and turned back to face Javert. "You´re just … too honest, inspector. Too honorable, too impossible to bribe. They knew you´d fight them and they just couldn´t have that."

"So … this whole … try to assassinate me was just …"

"A precaution." Moreau affirmed. "True to the motto: If you can´t make them work with you, make sure they can´t fight you. If you hadn´t escaped us, Gareaux would have died the same day. The broken inspector kills his friend after a breakdown caused by his failure at the barricades, and hangs himself out of guilt. Case closed. Only you had to struggle."

Javert grabbed his throat again. "Who´s behind all this?" he asked, and when Moreau only laughed, he reached into his wound. "TELL ME!"

"Javert." Valjean took the other man´s arm, dragging him back, and Javert swirled around to him, glaring at him warningly. As if he´d be ready to continue the same procedure on him if he got into his way. But Valjean´s calm features didn´t miss their effect, even on this raging man, and Javert blinked, startled.

"May I?" Valjean asked, gesturing for Moreau, and to his great surprise, Javert indeed stepped back, to let him have his try.

Valjean hunched before the bleeding man, fully aware of the fact that he had allowed it to come that far. That Javert had tortured this man, for information. And he hadn´t done anything. The fact that things had happened too fast for him to intervene, was no real excuse. He was here now, and he was ready to take over, where Javert did not come any further.

Better not to think about it, he rebuked himself and made himself focus.

"You said Gareaux would have died the same day." he recalled, his voice so much more collected than he would have expected it from himself. And this man just glared at him, panting. "What about Lecomte?" Valjean wanted to know.

Moreau frowned, irritated, his eyes flying up to Javert for a moment.

"What about him?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"Your men tried to kill him a whole day after Gareaux." Valjean explained his question. "Did you get sloppy with your schedule? Did you not have enough men? What was the reason?"

Moreau regarded Javert, one more time, before he lowered his eyes, thinking for a moment. "He was a secondary target." he spoke, carefully, as if to make sure he said the right thing. "Gareaux and Marianne were the main operation."

Valjean exchanged a glance with Javert, before turning back to Moreau. "What did Marianne have to do with this?"

"She was a witness. And a mission like this can´t afford any witnesses." And then, all the sudden there was something new in his eyes, something that was purely meant for him, Valjean. Moreau smiled. "No relatives that could come back to ask questions one day."

And at this, Valjean suddenly knew, what this man was implying.

"Cosette." he jumped up.

"You think they don´t know you, Fauchelevent? They know everything about you. They will find you. And your daughter."

Valjean stared at this man in the chair, for an undefinable amount of time, a time in which the entire world seemed to have stopped, just for him. And then time went on running, a little faster than usually to catch up with the brief stop it had taken.

Valjean felt dizzy. But not dizzy enough to forget what was at stake. And what he had to do.

"Cosette." he breathed and was out of the door, before he even knew he was moving. He had to get back to her. He had to get her someplace safe. He had to …

But he didn´t get further than to the stairs. The sounds of running men and the voices he heard coming from downstairs, were unmistakable.

"In there. Hurry. They´re upstairs."

He skipped back, hesitating only for a second.

"JAVERT!" he shouted, and the men downstairs of course heard him too. They halted briefly, startled about his shout, and he used their distraction, to attack before they could. Using the parapet as leverage he raised his feet off the ground and swung, kicking the one closest to him in the face. The man grunted, and fell back, into the others. Unfortunately one of them avoided being entangled in this bale – and this one man aimed a gun at Valjean.

The shot rang out, and Valjean felt the hot pain in his shoulder, as he lost his grip and fell, onto the stairs. Downstairs the men he´d fended, tried to get back to their feet. And behind himself, Valjean heard footsteps. And then someone was there, dragging him back. Javert.

A gun was aimed at the men downstairs, over Valjean´s shoulder, and Valjean knew it wouldn´t be enough. They had one shot for three men. Armed men. If they didn´t stop them all at once, they´d be dead.

He had no idea how he managed this, over the pain in his shoulder, but Valjean grabbed the gun, before Javert had a chance to shoot, taking it out of his hand.

"What are you doing?" Javert shouted, but Valjean had already aimed the gun, and shot. The bullet hit the rotten beam holding the stairs, and it exploded in dozens and dozens of splinters. The men downstairs flinched, and then their gazes went up, to the ceiling.

One of them tried to aim his gun at them, in a desperate try to cause some more damage before the chance would be gone. But it was too late. The ceiling came down, like a trapdoor, and their attackers were sufficiently blocked from them.

And finally, finally Valjean allowed himself to feel pain.

His groan seemed to have woken Javert too, because the hands holding him, dragged again, bringing him back to his feet and shoving him over to the window. He couldn´t be serious. There was a heap of garbage down there, mostly old food leftovers and some other nasty stuff no one wanted to inspect any closer. Javert opened the window, and Valjean was about to ask him if he´d lost his mind. He´d just been shot and he expected him to climb out of a window? In the first floor? How on earth was he supposed to do this?

Behind them there was a sound, and when he turned around, he saw Moreau lose of his ties, standing in the door, aiming a gun at them. Javert swirled around and pushed Valjean with his shoulder, right out of the window. The last thing he heard was a shot ringing out, and then he just fell. For a second everything swirled, and then he hit the garbage. Something skidded under him, and he fell even deeper, sliding down the heap of stinking something. For a moment everything around him spun and he wasn´t sure if he shouldn´t empty his stomach. There was probably worse on his coat right now. What had just happened?

When he looked again, he saw another figure jumping out of the window. Javert landed better than he had, rolled off the disgusting mass, and came back to his feet almost in one move. A hand grabbed Valjean´s coat, and dragged him up. And then they were just running. Running for dear life, for distance, for the sake of running.

Valjean had no idea how he managed it to keep up, but he did, dodging corners, again and again, until neither of them couldn´t go on any longer. If they truly had lost their pursuers? He couldn´t tell. All he knew was that he was done. His lungs were screaming and the pain was everywhere. Especially in his shoulder. So that was how a shot wound felt like.

**...**

"Cosette." he brought out, leaning against the wall, fighting the pain. "We need to get to her." And even though he could barely walk anymore, he tried to go on.

A hand grabbed his coat.

"What are you doing, old man?" Javert was still panting himself, but he was still strong enough to stop and push him back against the wall, causing the wound to scream again in pain. And had Valjean not been so out of breath, he had screamed too. "You can´t reach the mansion in this state." Javert told him. "You´d barely make it around the next corner. Let me see this."

Valjean felt his arm on fire, with each movement the other man caused, peeling the coat and other clothing away, in order to see the wound. A white light started to blind his vision, and for a while Valjean actually believed that this had to be the light of heaven, calling him. But no. He couldn´t go now. Not yet. Not with Cosette being in danger. He had to fight, he had to stay alive.

"I think you got lucky." he heard Javert´s voice, calm and collected, not like someone who looked at a dying man. "The bullet went right through." he told him. "And if it didn´t hit any bone …"

"I don´t think it did." Valjean managed.

"Then we can patch it up, until you can see a real doctor. You _got_ lucky." Javert glanced up at him, briefly, and added a disapproving: "Luck´s with the idiots."

That finally brought Valjean´s senses back around. "Idiot." he repeated, staring at the man that was currently destroying his best coat, in order to use it as bandages.

"You ran right into them." Javert affirmed, shoving the balled up cloth under Valjean´s shirt, pressing it on the wound. And Valjean cried out, trying to keep his voice down.

"We both ran into their trap." he panted, when he could breath normally again. "Don´t pretend that you´re so much smarter than I am."

Javert merely chuckled, not looking up from his work, not arguing with Valjean´s logic either. He just ripped off some more cloth, putting more pressure on the wound. And Valjean leaned back, trying to keep his cries inside. When he looked at Javert again, still so focused on his work, Valjean noticed blood on Javert´s neck.

"You´re injured too."

"It´s just a grace." Javert sounded annoyed. "You´re the one who´d lose enough blood to leave a trail for them to follow."

He shoved some more cloth under Valjean´s shirt, this time behind his shoulder, on the exit wound, and once again Valjean gasped, at the pain. And then all the sudden, he started laughing, heartily, despite the pain.

Javert glanced up at him, startled. "What, are you one of those who actually enjoy pain? Or why are you laughing?"

Valjean leaned back, once again making his shoulder scream, as the improved tourniquet pressed hard against his wound. He waited until the white dots stopped dancing before his eyes. And still the whole time he couldn´t stop smiling, chuckling quietly.

"I think you know why I´m laughing." he told Javert at last, meeting his gaze. And of course he did. He knew it very well.


	9. Fugitives

**Fugitives**

Valjean had never believed, not in his boldest dreams, that he´d ever see the day, when Javert, inspector extraordinaire, would really, truly, seriously steal a fiacre. But this was what happened, right now, before his very own eyes.

The driver was standing behind a corner, to release himself, his back to the street, and before Valjean knew what happened, Javert dragged him behind, to the coachman´s seat and heaved him up. A second later he sat beside him, whipping the horses, and the shouts of the poor driver faded behind them, almost drowned out by the noise of the trampling hooves. It was a miracle that no police man showed up to chase and arrest them. Javert truly must have lost his mind.

But on the other hand … he should have caught up to this little fact, when Javert had shown up at the Pontmercy mansion, dressed, unshaved and dirty like a beggar, asking him – him! – for his help. Of course he was out of his mind. How else could be explained what was happening right now?

Maybe it was the knock on the head, he had received behind the barricades, Valjean mused. He remembered the blood on the inspector´s forehead. Maybe that had messed him up, worse than Valjean had believed. Could such things be? It was the only explanation that seemed to make sense, why a character as unyielding as Javert had always been, could change so radically, in such a short time.

The carriage leaned into another curve, and Valjean felt his stomach turn around. If Javert would keep driving like that he would leave his lunch behind, that much was for sure. Heat was rising into his head, making his vision slightly blur. And finally, finally Javert slowed down, letting the horses run in a mannered tempo.

Valjean took a deep breath, to steady his stomach. They drove the street almost as if it was totally normal that a man, with the looks and clothes of a beggar, drove a fiacre next to a gentleman with blood on his coat. God, it was a blessing that people were too busy in the evening hours of the day, to look up at every passing carriage. Otherwise they would have drawn much more attention.

"I must say …" Valjean couldn´t help but comment on their situation, and if it was only to see how the other man would react. He said: "You astound me, inspector. Stealing a carriage is not what I would have expected you to do, even as a last resort."

"It´s called requisitioning a vehicle." Javert rephrased the action, and Valjean chuckled.

"That´s what you could call it if you´d still be police." He didn´t get an answer. But after a while Javert rolled his eyes, away from him, mumbling something that sounded like:

"Maybe I have more of my father than I always wanted to believe."

He had said it into another direction, and still he had spoken loud enough for Valjean to at least hear it. Was he not sure if he wanted to share this?

Valjean frowned. "Your father?"

"Forget it."

Javert was still not looking at him. And yet his eyes told Valjean to indeed leave it be. That whatever had made Javert speak out this little piece of information, was now gone, and the vault of secrets had been closed up, once again.

There was something strange in the world, when two men, as different as they were, could find themselves in such a place, together. Valjean had always believed in a higher plan – or he´d learned to believe it, when a wise man had taught him so. But how strange could God´s way be, when it led him on a path like this? He didn´t understand this. He didn´t understand it at all.

The steady sounds of the horses on the pavement, became white noise, and Valjean felt that he was getting dizzy, be it from exhaustion or from the blood loss. Suddenly the carriage stopped, and he was wide awake again. They had not reached the mansion. Not by a long shot.

"What are you doing?" he cried, and Javert ordered him, as calm as always:

"Get in the back."

What? "We need to get home to Cosette."

Javert only raised a brow at his urgency. "The faster you get back there, the faster we can keep driving." he told him. "You won´t help your daughter if you fall off this carriage."

Valjean stared into this careless face, but obeyed. What else could he do? But Javert better really kept driving, and fast. Or he would not be so nice next time he ordered him around like an inferior. Who did this man think he was?

Thanks God the carriage indeed started moving, as soon as he sat inside, leaning back against the cushions. And soon his thoughts started spinning along with his head, swirling back and forth between Cosette and what he had seen and heard. About Javert, about this conspiracy, about Cosette being in danger … Oh God, please don´t.

**...**

The moment Cosette heard the cab approaching the mansion, she knew it was her father. She hadn´t waited for Pontier to watch out – the good servant was probably busy enough with other things – so she was the first to notice the sounds of the hooves, coming up the driveway. Marius looked after her, startled, when she jumped up, in the middle of the conversation, to hurry over to the window.

"Cosette?" he asked, uncertain.

"That must be him." she told him, her eyes on the carriage. "That must be Papa coming back."

And that was the moment her eyes focused on the driver. What in heaven´s name …? She couldn´t remember to have ever seen a cab driver that looked so … unpresentable and poor.

"How strange." Marius uttered, having appeared beside her. He´d seen the same thing. And something inside Cosette just knew that this wasn´t good. That something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

"Marius." she instinctively reached out for him, in her need for support. And he held her hand, just long enough for her to gather some strength from him, before her feet independently carried her out of the room, to the front door.

As she rushed out of the door, her father just left the cab, depending on the support of this strange cab driver. And when the man looked up at her, she finally recognized him.

Javert!

And her father was injured. Blood on his coat. Weakened. All because of him.

"He needs to be bandaged." Javert spoke, but all she saw was the pale complexion of her father.

"What did you do to him?" she spat, taking her dear Papa to lean on _her_ shoulder, not on his. She wouldn´t see him lean on this man, who must have done God knew what to get him home like this.

"Please, Cosette." her father panted, as she dragged him towards the door. "It wasn´t his fault." She glanced at him, almost as angry at him now – how could he possibly defend this man? – and saw her father halt, as if to reconsider. "Well." he made. "Maybe half of it."

Cosette glared at Javert – what was this ridiculous disguise supposed to be? – and the inspector gave her father a look, as if to ask: Really? You insist on percentual distribution of blame now?

"Oh my God." the soft voice of Marius, disrupted her anger, and when she turned, he stood there, in the doorway. And by seeing him so worried and aghast, Cosette´s heart settled down, focusing on what was really important. Not her anger, not her disgust for this man that should be ashamed to call himself police inspector. No, right now it was about her father, and his injury, wherever he had gotten it.

Marius turned around, calling over his shoulder. "Gilbert! Bring water, and fresh bandages. We have an injured man here."

Cosette felt unbelievably grateful, and if that was even possible, her love for Marius grew even more. As if her soul was graving for love, especially in this moment.

She reached the door, and her father took Marius´ arm, to keep him from running ahead of them. As if he didn´t want to enter the house.

"Papa." she tried but all his attention was on Marius.

"Where´s your grandfather?" he asked, still panting in his pain. "We need to leave this place, immediately."

"For god´s sake, man, give them time to patch you up." Javert appeared beside them, and Cosette felt the familiar anger rise again.

"We don´t have time." her father objected. To the man´s words, not to his presence.

"Why?" Cosette asked. "What is the matter, Papa?"

"There are men." he told her, and Marius, so urgently. "They will come for you. All of you."

"Why?" Marius had paled at his words. But he was still so attentive. Ready to do whatever was necessary, whatever was in his power.

Cosette watched her father, swallow, in a way she only knew it from him, when he didn´t want to speak out the truth. And then he met the gaze of the abhorrent inspector.

"I got involved in something." Javert answered for him, as if her father´s gaze had just made him admit his sins. "Something very dangerous. And they will not hesitate to hurt you all, to shut me up."

"Shut you up?" Marius repeated, and without Javert having to say anymore, he seemed to guess something. As if he knew more than Cosette could ever guess, about these things.

Oh, how she wished to know the same things. How she hated her father for never telling her. Now it would be important that she knew, and now there was no time for her to learn all this first. Had he never known that this day might come? He must have known. So why, why had he never told her? Now it might be too late. How was she supposed to protect him and repay him for protecting her all these years, if she had no idea of the dangers that came after them? Had he never thought of that? Had he never even considered that? Oh, this silly old man.

The servant came with bandages and she sat her father down, into a cushioned armchair, barely able to step back and let them treat his wound. When the cloth got peeled back and the blood oozed out from under his skin, she almost cried out in pain. No. Please, don´t let him die. Please.

Her eyes found Javert, only for a moment, before Marius took her into his arms, and the hate in her heart melted away, with her despair. All she wanted was to let him hold her, and cry, for her dear Papa, for herself, for all of them. Because this was what this devil Javert had said. That whatever had happened to her Papa, could happen to them all.

I always knew he´d bring us harm, she thought. I knew it when he entered our house. Papa should have never trusted him.

"We need to leave." she heard her father´s voice, distorted with the pain caused by the servant´s treatment. "I can wait." And he actually tried to get the servant off himself, to make him stop.

"Papa, no!" Cosette cried, but Javert stepped into her way.

"He´s right, Mademoiselle." he said, astoundingly soft, but this put on tone could not fool her. He turned to Marius. "Please." he urged. "Talk to your grandfather. And let the servants prepare for a quick start. Only take what´s absolutely essential. And hurry."

Once again Marius´ gaze was so aware, and something in his eyes was so awake, as Cosette had never seen it before, not a single time in all those days that she had spent with him, to revive his spirit. He nodded at the inspector, eagerly, and hurried away, leaving Cosette alone with her poor father and this monster in human form.

She moved away from Javert, backing up, until she was by her father´s side, and fell to her knees, hands grasping his. Please, God, she prayed. Protect us from this evil.

**...**

It was barely an hour later – an hour that had passed like minutes, but Marius remembered this fleeting perception of time, in battle situations – that they stood outside, with two carriages packed and ready to go. The cab, Cosette´s father had brought with him, and his grandfather´s very own carriage.

The servants had been sent back inside, after they had packed the very few indispensable items. The order was to maintain the mansion until their masters would return. And they would of course follow this order, even though Marius could tell that some of them had not felt too well with the idea. They knew something was going on. Only none of them would dare to ask.

"Monsieur." Marius stopped the stranger, that had come to their house to warn them from this danger, short before the coachman´s seat.

The man turned to him, impatiently, and once again Marius felt as if he should know this man. His eyes. There was something so awfully familiar about them. But right now they were also very humiliating, as if nothing that Marius could want to ask, could be important enough to delay their departure.

"Where are we going?" he asked anyway, and the older man only looked back at him, with a face made of stone.

"For now? As far away from here as possible."

And with that he climbed on the seat, and Marius, feeling so small as if he were a child again, went to his grandfather´s fiacre, to join Cosette and her father.

**...**

It was several hours into the drive, night had settled in, when Javert suddenly recognized the area they drove through. Just as the small house appeared in the distance, he knew for sure. He stopped the cab a few hundred feet down the road, and got off.

"What is it?" the baron asked, when he reached the other carriage. "Why do we stop?"

The door of the fiacre opened and Valjean peeked out, followed by his daughter and the boy.

"That´s an Inn over there." Javert told them. "I stayed there once when I traveled on police business out of town." he looked them over for a second, before he added: "I believe it´s best if someone unsuspicious makes the arrangement."

He didn´t need to speak it out. Valjean, even though he still seemed sleepy and stiff from the long ride, caught up at once. He turned to his daughter, leaning against the door of the car with his bad shoulder.

"Cosette. You do that. Take some money. Tell them your name is … Pineau. Say you´re traveling with your family and that we need rooms."

The girl´s eyes found Javert, full of hate, at Valjean´s words. Family. But she took the money and made her way over to the house, nonetheless, not speaking a single word. They watched her go, and Javert had no idea why he mentioned it at all, but he suddenly found himself next to Valjean, murmuring, only for him to hear: "I don´t think your daughter likes me very much."

The other man looked at him, startled, and Javert gestured unobtrusively for him, to take a few steps, away from the Pontmercys.

"Does she know who I am?" he asked, quietly, when they were – relatively – alone. "Who I really am?"

Valjean reacted uncomfortable at this question, and that alone told Javert that he´d been right with his assumption.

"She … remembers." the ex-convict started, nervously fiddling with the sling over his shoulder. "But not all. She doesn´t trust you."

Javert nodded. "I noticed." For a moment he hesitated, looking after the girl, even though she was long gone from his view. And he couldn´t help recalling her hateful gaze. "Do you think I should lock my door?" he asked, and as an afterthought: "Does she own a knife or some other weapon?"

Valjean stared at him, wide eyed, and then simply began to laugh. "You can´t be serious, Javert."

Javert frowned deeply at this strange reaction. "I was very serious." he informed Valjean, but Valjean did not stop smiling heartily at him. This stupid blissful smile, Javert had always taken for deception. Now it felt like mockery.

"I thought you´d learned some things these last few weeks, about human nature." the ex convict smiled. "Javert."

Javert had no response to that. He didn´t even know what this man meant by that. And then he noticed how a frown appeared between Valjean´s eyes, as he regarded him. What? What was it now?

As if he´d heard the question, spoken out loud, Valjean shook his head.

"Please don´t take that personal." he said. "But … God, you look awful. I mean, really … this whole …" he moved his hand before his own face, to indicate the appearance. "It´s so odd. That´s just not you anymore."

Javert snorted, smirking, and raised a brow at him. "That was the idea, Val …" he halted, and quickly checked one more time, their distance to the baron and his grandson.

"Still." Valjean just went on. "You exaggerated. You always exaggerate."

Javert gave him a face. "Says the man that sacrifices eight years of his life to raise the child of a dead prostitute, out of guilt. You´re not the one to talk, Valjean."

"I didn´t sacrifice anything when I took Cosette." Valjean objected, gently. "I won life. And you´re the one to talk, inspector. Dedicated like you were, to catch _one_ fugitive, over all these years."

Javert only raised a brow, not dignifying this remark with an answer. Just as he tried to search another spot to look at, Valjean decided to insult him even more.

"We´re not so different than you think, Javert." he spoke, and Javert´s head snapped back, to glare at him.

"Don´t you dare saying that ever again." he rasped. "You hear me?"

Valjean only chuckled, and for a moment they just looked at each other, in an almost peaceful silence. The convict and his life long pursuer. How could the world have turned upside down like this? How could things be, that were so wrong and impossible? And how could he, Javert, allow it? Turning to his worst enemy, in his darkest hour. How had all this happened? Surely staring at Valjean like an idiot would not solve this riddle. Would it?

"You know what doesn´t let me go?" Valjean spoke up again, serious all the sudden, and Javert skipped back a little, cautiously.

"What?"

"There was something Moreau said. He said you …" And this time Valjean looked over at the two other men. " … _took out_ three of his men. But it was three that attacked us at Lecomte´s … and three at the pharmacy. Right? That would make six men. Not three."

Javert recalled the facts, thinking back. "Six dead men." he nodded, commenting Valjean in silence on his recollection. "And yet he only sees three of them as his."

He could tell on the other man´s reaction, that he understood the unspoken. Valjean held his injured arm, protectively, when he asked: "Then who sent the others?"

But here Javert had to resign. "I don´t know."

"Excuse me, gentlemen." the voice of the baron, caught them both off guard. The old man and his grandson had approached them after all, without any of them noticing. "Maybe I can help you with this." the old man offered. "My family is well known in this city, I have many friends. I could find out what you need to know."

Behind him the boy watched his grandfather with curios worry, unable to decide where in all this he should stand. And somehow Javert could relate to that feeling.

"It´s too dangerous for you to go back." he told the old man, but the baron shook his head.

"I am a baron." he reminded him, with conviction. "From a very old blood line. They will not dare to touch me."

Javert looked into the gray eyes of this man, so small and fragile as if he could be broken in half by a strong hand with no problems, and there was something there, something that made even him hesitant. And glancing briefly at the boy beside him, he understood.

"All right." he nodded, unable to not respect this bravery. "But be careful who you trust."

"Don´t worry." the baron spoke, lightly, as if this was truly nothing. "I might be old, but I know how to find my way through a maze."

"I´ll go with you." Marius offered, now finally deciding where he wanted to stand. But his newly found spirit quickly got calmed, by the elder.

"No, Marius." he told him, with a gentle smile. "You´ll take care of your young bride." And as he padded the startled boy´s hand: "Make sure she is save. And take care of yourself, too. I will see you when all this is over."

Marius, even though Javert was sure he knew better than to just believe his grandfather, nodded, obediently, the fear so clear in his eyes. Maybe one day he´d be ready again, and strong enough, to object to an offer like that. But right now, so shortly after the barricades, he just didn´t have that strength. And Javert doubted the old man would see the day, when his grandson would find it again.

A hand took his arm, dragging him aside, while the old man was still busy talking his grandson out of suicide.

"We can´t allow this." Valjean hissed at him. "He´s wrong when he thinks his title will protect him and you know that."

"I know." Javert looked into his eyes, and this was all it took. "But so does he." And Valjean understood. Javert turned his back to the others. "Don´t tell the boy. Or your daughter. They will sleep better when they don´t worry about the old man."

**...**

Cosette turned to her father, when she heard the hiss. He was sitting on the bed, holding his shoulder. His injury.

"Papa." she tried to help him, but he shook his head.

"I´m fine."

"You´re not fine. You´re hurt. Every time this man is involved you get hurt. He´s a devil. And we should not travel with him."

"Cosette, please."

"No." this time she was furious. How could he not see it? How could he allow this? "I won´t lose you." she told him. "Not like this. Not when I can stop it from happening."

"Stop it from happening?" he repeated startled, shaking his head. "Cosette, dear, what are you talking about?"

Her face was hard when she looked at him, her eyes burning with unshed tears of anger. "You know what I´m talking about." she whispered. "You must know. You always kept me save. From him."

She could see in his face, that she was right.

"You protected me, hid me, so he wouldn´t find us. Because you knew he was bad."

And here he shook his head, but she wouldn´t let him talk.

"Because you knew he´d tear us apart, destroy our lives, take everything from us, that made our lives good."

"Cosette …"

"Because you knew that men like him do things for no other reason than to cause pain. Because you knew …"

"Cosette, please!"

"It was the truth for all these years!" she shouted, insisting, and finally the tears fell. "That´s what you taught me." she sobbed, desperately trying not to cry. "Why I feared him." She couldn´t hold the tears. She couldn´t.

"Is that what I made you believe?" she heard his broken voice, over her own sobs. "With my life long paranoia? Is that what I made you see?"

She looked up at him, seeing his face through a cloud of water. And he was so hurt. But for her. Always for her.

"Oh, dear lord, forgive me, Cosette. I never wanted to teach you such hate. Such fear." He took her hands. "I always only wanted what´s best for you."

Cosette looked down at his hands, one of them weak from the pain in his shoulder. And her own hands found his sleeves, once again forcing them up, to reveal his wrists, scarred, from pain so many years ago. And just as always he flinched back, as if the scars were still hurting him, when touched, even by her. Or … especially by her.

"Did _he_ do that to you?" she managed to ask, her throat aching. "Did he …?" but she couldn´t finish the question, unable to imagine what this man must have done, to leave such scars.

His eyes were emphasizing, gentle, as if she was the one to be pitied, not him.

"Oh, Cosette." he took her hands, faster between his. "He never did anything to me. _He_ didn´t."

Now it would come, she knew it. He finally would tell her the name of the person who´d hurt him. The devil in human form.

He said: "I did." And Cosette´s heart stopped for a moment. What?

"Everything that happened to me in the past … was my own responsibility. The years that left me scarred … as well as the years that left me blessed." At this he touched her cheek, so light, only with his thumb. "I´ve tried to blame others for the pain I had to go through. Javert was one of them. But the truth is … I did this … all of it, to myself."

"No."

He nodded. "It´s true. I would have had choices, all my life. Only it took me way too long, to realize this. To realize that everything that would happen to me, because of my actions … wasn´t in God´s hands. Or anyone´s. But in mine. If I would have made different choices, my life would have been different." He smiled. "Maybe less painful. But also less blessed. For I would have never found you. So let´s not judge the past, my dear. There´s always a higher plan. For everything."

And at this, she just didn´t have the strength anymore. The tears started to flow and he held her, for as long as it took.

"I don´t understand this." she whispered, when she could finally speak again, wiping her eyes, red by now. And her voice didn´t sound like her own anymore either. "What is all this? What higher plan has brought us here? Where are we going?"

He sighed, sadly. "I don´t know yet, Cosette." And he shook his head. "I can´t expect you to understand. It is very complicated and even I don´t understand it all yet."

"Then explain it to me." she begged. "How can I understand if you don´t talk to me? Please, Papa. I´m not a child anymore. If you want me to go on this journey with you and this … this man. Then I need to know why."

And this time, when she looked into his eyes, she was sure, for the first time in her life, that he would answer her.

**...**

Only a few doors away, Javert sat alone, not even guessing what the mood was like between Valjean and his daughter right now. He was too exhausted to care for anyone´s mood but his own. God, he was so tired. All he wanted was sleep and forget. Rest. Only he couldn´t. His mind simply wouldn´t let him. It wouldn´t let him leave it all behind, not even for tonight.

The worst was that he was unable to think. Any conscious thought seemed to have abandoned him. All he had left instead was a turmoil of pictures, images, feelings, impressions, colors and shades. Nothing that had any kind of shape, nothing he could put in any form of order. Total chaos, within his mind. His heart.

What had he done? What had happened to him, to let him end up like this? He´d been grand once. Respected. Above this level, that he´d always hated and despised so much. And now? Now he was right back where he´d come from. Wasn´t he?

But no. This appearance he wore lately was only a disguise. Born of necessity. It didn´t mirror his true self. It hid it, so he could live another day, and fight those who had done wrong. Just as he´d always done it. Serving the law. Doing the right thing. On the path of the Lord, who always rewarded those who did good.

And that was what he would do. For it was his duty. Still. No matter what.

Javert got up, and walked to the small bureau, to the tiny mirror that stood there. His image was a mess. He was filthy, and his head looked like a skull. Something that wouldn´t change all too soon, as long as his hair didn´t grow out again. His eyes were bloodshot and the beard he´d grown to hide his face was bushy and just messy. A real catastrophe. Just like his mind was right now.

Regarding himself now, he had to admit that Moreau had been right after all. He _had_ let himself go. The disguise might have been intended, but not that much. It was about time to correct this mistake.

Maybe he was unable to clean up the mess inside his head, for now. But at least he could do something about this outside mess.

And after he´d done that, he´d start working on how to correct the other wrongs that had been done. One step at a time. One at a time.

**...**

In his own room, the room he would have shared with his grandfather, had he stayed as Cosette had believed when renting the rooms, Marius tried to settle down. Only he couldn´t. His heart was a turmoil, never able to focus on only one thing at the time. Cosette. This impossible situation. Cosette. His grandfather who went back to solve a riddle Marius didn´t even know. Cosette. Her hate towards this man, that had obviously come to help them, and bring them someplace save. Away from the place his grandfather was now going back to. Alone.

He had taken the smaller carriage, the one Cosette´s father had brought. A stolen cab obviously, according to Monsieur Javert´s words. But somehow this little fact didn´t seem to bother his grandfather too much. He´d only looked surprised for a moment, before he accepted this fact without another word.

Marius didn´t understand anything anymore. His grandfather driving a stolen carriage? Knowingly? What kind of danger was he trying to protect them from, when he was content with such measures? And a danger it was, Marius simply knew that. Just the way his grandfather had hugged him, before climbing on the seat. The way Monsieur Javert had wished him luck, and his grandfather´s response to it:

"For all of us."

Marius felt helpless. Vulnerable. More than ever before in his life. With one exception maybe. But even that was no comparison to what he felt now. Because now he didn´t know what to feel. Except fear. From something he didn´t even know.

Something was coming after them. A dark lurking danger, and Marius simply had no idea how to face this. Make sure your bride is save, his grandfather had said. But how should he do that, if he didn´t even know what he had to protect her from?

Once … he´d wanted nothing but fight. For the right thing. But that had been in another life, before he´d seen all his friends die. And nothing was different. All the things they´d wanted to change, to make come true, it was all still the same. So much loss … for nothing. And a part of Marius had died along with them, at this barricade. What was left of him, was only a shadow of the fighter he´d been. Alone in the dark, frightened, not of the danger, but of his own weakness. Of the unknown.

Where was his grandfather going? Did he know that he would die? Where were _they_ going? Did they know if they would die too? Did Cosette´s father know? Or his strange friend? Maybe it would have been better if he´d never woken up, after the barricades.

Marius closed his eyes, trying to fight the tears, and failed. He tried to sleep and failed too. Eventually he drifted off into a restless sleep, neither really sleeping nor waking, always drifting out of a bad dream and back in. And all the while his eyes noticed the change of light around him, as the moon passed by his window, and later as night slowly turned into dawn, dark and uncertain. Just like his dreams.


	10. Dying for Something

**Just a short note before we continue. If any of you had problems imagining Javert´s current appearance, know that I had some trouble with that too. I made a picture that might help with that. Just check out nureinname on deviantart. **

**It´s not much but it helped me to picture a changed Javert.**

**And now let´s continue with the story …**

* * *

**Dying for Something**

He wasn´t used to such long journeys. Driving for hours, out of the city, and then the same way back, almost without a break. If he´d been ten years younger, twenty years, it would have been easier. But he did this for his grandson, so he kept moving on. And finally, finally he reached the gates of Paris.

He passed it, and left it behind. The streets were almost empty. Even though the siege was long gone, the people seemed to remember it well, and stayed inside, for their own safety. No one wanted to get involved with whatever business the national guard had had here. Maybe Monsieur Fauchelevent and his strange friend were right after all. Not that he had doubted that. But seeing it with his own eyes, made it more real.

He didn´t dare to drive the stolen fiacre all the way to his old friend´s house. He parked it a few streets away, not intending to ever go back and fetch it. The police would find it and return it to whoever owned it. And the idea that it was a baron who´d driven it there, would surely never even cross their minds.

His legs were aching, and so was his back. But he reminded himself, again and again, why he was doing this. Marius. And his sweet bride. They had to be safe. His life was expendable. And if this should be his last march, so be it. He´d been a fighter once, in his younger years. Now that it was called for, his old bones remembered their former strength. They would carry him, for as long as it was necessary.

Finally he reached the house. His old friend was still awake, he could see the lights on, in his sitting room, where he was probably reading into the night again. Some things just never changed.

When he knocked the faithful servant Bernard opened him.

"Monsieur Gillenormand." he exclaimed at his unexpected appearance. "We didn´t expect a visit."

"I know." the baron took off his hat, and stepped inside. Oh God his legs were shaking. Visibly as it seemed because the good Bernard instantly offered him to sit down.

"I need to speak to Jérôme. Monsieur Desperaux." the baron spoke, but took the chair, gratefully.

"Did I just hear my name?" the familiar voice sounded from the door. "My God, Grégoire. What are you doing here?"

Bernard instantly stepped back to allow the master of the house, to greet his guest.

"Did you walk here?" he asked, when he saw his old friend´s condition. The baron laughed.

"Walking is healthy, did they never tell you this?"

But his old friend didn´t join the joke. He knew something was wrong. He´d always known such things.

"What is it?" he asked, therefor.

And the baron straightened in his seat.

"You see, my friend." he spoke. "I´m in some sort of situation." he looked at Bernard for a moment, but the man was serving Jérôme´s family for so long, he knew he could trust him. So he spoke it out: "I need your help."

**...**

When Javert left his room in the morning, entering the little restaurant of their Inn, he found Valjean sitting separately from the kids, eating a small breakfast in solitude. Cosette and Marius were quiet too, not talking much, just eating. And already Javert felt as if he was intruding.

The feeling changed the moment Valjean spotted him. He gave him a demonstrative once over, and started nodding, approvingly.

"Now." he spoke, skipping back a little as if to make space for him to sit. "That´s more like it."

Javert rolled his eyes. "Please. Spare me that." He had only tamed his beard a bit, cleaned up, but that was all. Still he had to admit he did feel like a human being again, not like this walking pest he´d been before.

He took his seat on the table, glancing over at the girl and her boyfriend, talking more by now and even quieter. There had to be a reason why Valjean had decided to eat his breakfast away from them. And when the gaze of the girl met Javert, he had an idea why.

"I told her …" Valjean admitted, before Javert could ask the question. "What is going on. Why we´re on the run."

Javert just couldn´t believe it. He did what?

"She asked me, I had no choice." Valjean defended himself, as if Javert had cried out his thought instead of just thinking it. "We´re on the run, Javert." he recalled a fact that was well known to both of them. "And I have no secrets from my daughter."

The snort came almost unasked. "No, I´m sure you don´t." Javert retorted. "You always tell her everything."

Valjean paled, and searched the children again, as if to check. No, they were not listening.

"Just … one thing." he spoke to Javert, still watching the kids. "I´m sure that this won´t happen, but … If Cosette should ever ask you … anything. Could you … just … not tell her that you saw me at the barricades?"

Javert raised his brows. What?

"Marius thanks God does not remember me." Valjean explained. "And I want to keep it that way."

Was he serious? Javert looked at him, then at the kids, then back at him, and totally failed to see the reason in this.

"You saved your daughter´s sweetheart, from certain death." he recalled, just to make sure he didn´t misinterpret any small details. But Valjean´s reaction made clear that he hadn´t misinterpreted anything. "Why would you avoid to be her hero … and gain a little bit of her attention back?" he asked.

But Valjean´s reaction was defiant. "I don´t have to justify myself to you." he grumbled. "This is how I want it."

Javert couldn´t help but had to smirk at this man, that would never stop to be a mystery to him. And yet he was such an open book, he probably didn´t even realize it.

"Tell me one thing, Valjean." he asked, quietly. "Does she even know your real name?"

He received a deadly glare for this provocation, and it would have been a lie if Javert had claimed not to enjoy this.

"I´m not the only one with secrets here, inspector." Valjean practically spat the last word. "You call me a thief but you know how to pick a lock and very professionally if I may add. You shoot people when you´re given the order, not even knowing who they are and why they have to die."

Now it was Javert´s turn to glare. "I told you, I never did one of those." he hissed.

"But you approve to it. Don´t you? That´s at least how you talk about it. You think that some of these actions can be justified. Killing … in the name of the law."

"What do you think executions are?"

"Murder. No more no less. Just like these … operations."

Javert kept glaring, but so did Valjean, each of them trying to defeat the other one´s point only with their stare. Each of them failed.

"You know nothing, Valjean." Javert rasped. "Nothing at all."

"But you do?"

"I know certain things are necessary. Sometimes you have to do things you are not proud of." He gave Valjean a look. "I´m sure you know that feeling." After that he dropped his gaze, only for a moment. "And sometimes you are forced to do cruel things, even terrible things, things you know would condemn you to hell, if they were not done for the right reasons."

When he looked at Valjean again, the other man shook his head. "You sound exactly like Moreau. What reason could that possibly be, Javert? What?"

"You have no idea, Valjean. In your little world you might not see a reason. But there are reasons. In the world I lived in … there are reasons. Whether we like it or not."

"I don´t think I ever want to understand those reasons." was all Valjean would respond to that. But Javert had already started to think. Without him wanting it, his thoughts had started to turn, back to Moreau and what he had said. Suddenly, after Valjean´s objection, he saw Moreau´s words in a new light.

A good question indeed. What reason could it possible be? He was so convinced about being a patriot. And Javert had seen a lot of men claiming that. He knew the difference between one that only said it, and one that really meant it. Moreau had meant it. So he indeed had to be working for someone very powerful. Someone so powerful he was ready to kill and even die for, to protect them.

Next to him Valjean sighed. "Look at me." he spoke, absentmindedly, shaking his head. His gaze was somewhere in the distance. "I´m on the run from the law yet again. Only this time you´re not the one coming after me. This time I´m dragging you behind."

Obviously Valjean had had other thoughts, circling in his mind. Javert had almost laughed.

"Or _I´m_ dragging _you_ behind." When the ex-convict looked at him, he shook his head. "Does it really matter how we got here, Valjean?" he fended the question. "We are here. Now we have to deal with it."

With no further objection, Valjean turned to look over at Cosette and Marius, still talking quietly.

"I need to bring them somewhere safe." he said and Javert could not argue with that. "But where is safe?" Valjean sighed. "These people who are after us …" he didn´t know how to go on, Javert could see that. His desperation. His struggle.

"There´s a convent not too far away from here." he suggested, and Valjean turned to him, startled. "This should be safe enough." Javert said. "And it´s better than to drive miles and miles away from Paris. I have a feeling we´ll be needed there, very soon."

Valjean glanced at the kids again, considering. Eventually he nodded. "All right. Deal." He turned to Javert as if he had something more to say, but he didn´t. He merely seemed to wait for Javert to do or say something. To seal their deal maybe?

He gave him a nod, and Valjean seemed to be satisfied. He had his unspoken promise. And maybe, Javert thought to himself, there were worse things on earth, than to make a pact like that.

His eyes found the kids again, and they were both watching him now. Javert sighed. So now they knew. What would come next?

**...**

He knew he probably shouldn´t do it. This man scared Cosette, enough to make her beautiful face turn hard, and her voice cold. But he just had to talk to him. And if it was only this one time.

Marius felt his face grow cold, as he approached him, but he walked on, until he was at him.

"You are the inspector." he spoke, and Javert turned to him, startled. So far his attention had been on the carriage, preparing it for their departure. Now he looked at him, as if Marius had accused him of a crime.

The young student nodded. "Cosette told me. I knew I´d seen your face before but … you´ve changed."

A sigh escaped him, his eyes never leaving the face of the man he´d met first as a spy, trying to infiltrate him and his friends, to stop their revolution. An enemy behind the barricade. But now, looking back, Marius couldn´t help but wonder, if it hadn´t been better if the inspector had succeeded. Maybe some of them would still be alive if he had. Maybe all of them would be alive now. Not just him.

"I guess the barricades changed us all." was all he knew to say to this man. What else was there to say? It was so obvious that Javert had been through a lot himself, so he surely didn´t need Marius to tell him. And yet he was back now, to help them against another danger. Marius did not know why Cosette hated him so much. All _he_ could feel was the utmost respect for this man, who was currently frowning at him, as if he didn´t know what Marius was talking about.

"You see …" the younger man spoke. "I thought I was the only one who survived."

And at this the inspector cocked his head, suddenly avoiding his gaze.

"You got lucky, boy." he told him. "You should thank your guardian angel for getting you out of there."

Marius couldn´t help the bitter chuckle that came up in him. "I can´t even remember how I got out. All I remember is getting shot." He needed to take a breath against the visions. "Screams, and shots and explosions around me. As if the world was crushing down. And the blood of my friends, everywhere." His voice was breaking. "Oh God, my friends …"

He more felt than saw the other man beside him, shifting uncomfortable from one foot to the other. Marius knew that he was bothering him, with his grief. He surely hadn´t intended to start crying in front of this man. Dammit, why did he have to be so weak? Why had he been so weak, back then, when it would have mattered not to be?

"There was a woman, Eponine." he told him, not able to stop himself. "She died in my arms. After she had saved my life." Again the tears came unexpected, suffocating him. "Why did all this happen, inspector?" he managed to ask, fighting it back unsuccessfully. "Do you know it? Because I don´t." he shook his head, not even looking at the inspector. "Maybe I never did."

He didn´t expect Javert to give him an answer. He knew there was none. The more it surprised him when he indeed got one. And if it was only in the form of a mystifying response.

"I´m in the process of finding that out, boy." the inspector told him, and that alone made Marius halt, forgetting his tears at last. What? Had he just heard him right? Finding out? What could he possibly find out? What had happened, had happened because of a bad fate. Of bad luck. Coincidences, too cruel to be named. Right?

Except …

But before he could ask him, the inspector padded his shoulder. "Come on now." he said, as if the matter was over. "Get in. We need to leave."

**...**

Valjean climbed on the coachman´s seat, to join Javert. He could have stayed with Cosette in the back but he had things to talk about, that only the inspector would understand. And besides that fact, he really rather kept his distance from the two young and their love. He´d spent hours in this small cab with them last night, and he did not urge to repeat this experience. Should they have their privacy. He didn´t need to be a part of it.

Javert glanced at him with reluctance, when he took his seat next to him, but didn´t speak. He just pulled the reins, and the horses started moving.

"If I didn´t know any better …" Valjean mentioned, what he´d seen earlier, between Javert and the boy. "I´d almost say you showed some form of compassion there." He received a side glance from the other man. "As if you actually regretted what happened at the barricades." Valjean watched the face beside him carefully. It was stony. No change in Javert´s expression at all, dark as it was.

"Of course I regret what happened that night." the former inspector growled at last, not even looking at him. "Too many lives were lost there. Far too many. And I will find the one who´s responsible."

Valjean regarded this man, beside him. The man that had hunted him for all these years. And now that things had changed so much, he didn´t even want to look at him. As if his mind was already far ahead, at the task that lay before him. The task he´d put upon himself, just as _he_ had once put it on himself to take care of a lonely child, who had lost her mother. And in this moment Valjean could not help but wonder.

"You know …" he began again. "There was a time in my life … when I would have just packed and left. Taken Cosette and run away, as far as I could. Buying a house in England is easy when you know how."

He didn´t know for sure why he´d mentioned this last bit, but the gaze Javert gave him now, was a glare. Warningly.

"What do you propose here, Valjean?" he asked, lowly, and for a moment Valjean was embarrassed for having said it. "I can´t just leave now." the former inspector told him. "Maybe a convict like you can just run, but I can´t." Javert looked ahead again, stubbornly, his jaw working. "No, I have to do this."

Valjean didn´t know why it bothered him so much, what Javert had just said. Or the tone he´d used for this last sentence. As if he didn´t even consider if he would live or die in this.

"I didn´t propose anything." he said. "But you have only your own life to worry about. I have a young daughter to care for."

"And the boy now too." Javert added, driving a knife into Valjean´s soul once again.

"Yeah." he agreed. "Him now too."

Javert frowned, regarding him. "The convent will be safe for them." he emphasized once again. "Safe enough at least." He gave a little shrug, and turned back to the road. "But if you think you have to take them under your arm and run away to England, go ahead. I won´t stop you."

Valjean didn´t know what to say. Hearing those words should be a relief. But it wasn´t. Javert smirked at him, unnoticeable, and raised a brow.

"There was a time in my life too, when I would have never said that." he spoke, and somehow this simple admittance made Valjean understand, at last. That whatever had happened to Javert, was not just limited to an outside change of appearance. No, it had to be much more profound. And somehow he felt that he was responsible for that.

"If we just leave, what will you do?" he asked, but didn´t get an answer. "You can´t fight them all on your own." he cried. "You would die."

"Maybe" Javert was still not looking at him. His face darkened, and it scared Valjean to see this shadow over the other man´s face. "But this time at least," he said. "I´d die for a reason. One that I understand."

And that was the last thing he would speak on that matter.

**...**

"His name is Bourguignon." Jérôme spoke, writing down an address for his old friend. "Henry Bourguignon. We know each other from our days in the royal army. He´s a general now, and very powerful. He has influence that you can only imagine, knows the right people. If there is anyone who can help you find the answers that you need, it is him."

The baron looked at his old friend, reluctantly. He was sure Jérôme meant it well but … this situation was too serious for a well meant advice that in the end led to the wrong consequences.

"I don´t know, Jérôme. This whole thing seems to be rooted within the army. Maybe it´s unwise to turn to someone who is affiliated with them."

"Maybe. But Henry is different. I know him, Grégoire. He´s a man of honor. And he´s loyal to the king. If it is true what your friends say, then this conspiracy within the military is a great crime against France and the king, and he will not approve to it. Quite the contrary. He´ll do everything in his power to find those men, and bring them to justice, before they can do any more harm, maybe even to the king. You only need to convince him that the king might suffer if they are not punished. Then he will do everything in his power to help you."

The baron watched his friend, in his conviction."And you´re sure about this?"

"I know the man for years, Grégoire. He saved my life once. I would trust him blindly, any time."

The baron lowered his gaze, thoughtfully and nodded. He still felt uncomfortable with this. But Jérôme had always been an expert in human nature. When he said this man was loyal to king and country, he believed him.

"All right then." he said. "But I hope your friend has resources to protect himself. Because the people we go against, will not stop to even attack a high ranking officer like him. They already did this."

But Jérôme was faithful. "Don´t worry." he said. "Henry is brave. He never feared any enemy, no matter where they came from. And he does have resources. If anyone can protect you, and your friends, it is him."

**...**

"What now, Papa?" Cosette asked him, after the sisters had settled them into some rooms, small but sufficient. She had lived in such circumstances for a great part of her life, so he knew it was familiar for her. As if she came home after years of traveling. Marius on the other hand should be a little out of place here. But he didn´t seem to mind in any way.

"How long are we gonna be here?" Cosette wanted to know, and her gaze was determined to get an answer. She wouldn´t accept an: I don´t know. But unfortunately this was all Valjean could give her.

"I don´t know." he sighed and faced them both. "Cosette. Marius. I want you to keep quiet. Don´t tell anyone why we came here. You know the sisters never talk, so you both are safe here."

"What about you?" the light of his life wanted to know, and yet again he could only sigh and shake his head, knowing she wouldn´t like what he had to say.

"I need to go back." he told her.

"No."

"Cosette." he took her hands. "As long as these people are out there, we´ll never be safe. And we can´t just leave. Not anymore."

He knew he´d scared her, but there was simply no other way he could have said that.

"Papa."

"No more words. You will be safe here." he assured her. "Just stay here and … wait."

"What do you want to do?" Marius dared to ask, and Valjean looked up at him.

"Whatever I can … to help Javert …" his eyes met Cosette again.

"No."

"… find these men." he insisted on finishing what he had to say. "And bring them to justice, for what they did."

"What did they do?" Marius tone was very serious, very demanding, as if he already guessed the truth. But of course Valjean could not tell him. This was a truth he could never share, no matter how much the boy might deserve it. He´d been there after all. Had barely survived it. Yet, he was still just a kid. And as such he should not carry even more of this burden.

Valjean smiled at him, warmly, laying a hand around the boy´s neck. "Don´t worry. You two take care of each other."

"I want to help you, Monsieur."

"No, Marius. You are still recovering."

"So are you, sir." the boy insisted, but unsuccessfully.

"My wound is not as deep as yours." Valjean told him, and even Marius seemed to understand that he was not talking about the simple flesh wound of his body. "Don´t fear for me." he told them both. "I know my ways. I will be safe." he chuckled. "I´m under police protection after all."

But Cosette didn´t laugh for him, at his joke. Her face darkened at his words, so full of hate for the man he´d just mentioned. Valjean took her in, embracing her, and placed a kiss her on the head. "I will be back. I promise."

And with that he left them, walking out to join the man that once upon a time had been his enemy. Javert was deep in thought, studying a paper. It was the drawing they had found in Marianne´s place. He´d never taken it out of his pocket ever since, as if it were a talisman with magic powers. A magic power he now tried to understand, judging by the deep frown between his eyes.

Valjean stepped to his side.

"Well." he spoke and Javert turned to face him. "What are we gonna do next?"

**...**

He didn´t feel well with the thought to leave his old friend behind. But he figured it was safer for Jérôme this way. That he´d had to involve him in any way had been too much risk already. He didn´t need to get endangered any more, by being seen with him, in the city. They still didn´t know whom to trust, so spies and enemies could be hidden at every corner. If someone spotted _him_ it would be risky enough. No need to get Jérôme to their attention too.

"Are you sure, you don´t want me to come with you?" he asked him, once again, and the old baron gave him a smile.

"It´s all right, Jérôme." he said. "I´m only going to talk to your friend. You say dropping your name should be enough, and I don´t want you to be seen with me."

Jérôme still didn´t look happy, so the baron padded his shoulder, reassuringly. "He´s a high ranking officer." he recalled what in fact _Jérôme_ had told _him._ "Every visit to him will be official. Many people will know about it. No way for anyone to do something secretly. I´ll be totally safe. And so will be your friend. The best way to destroy their plan is to attack them all in the open." the baron spoke, handing his friend the letter he´d just written.

"I pray you´re right, old friend." Jérôme sighed, heavily, and looked down on the letter in his hand. "And I hope your friends, whoever they are, are worth that risk."

"It´s not about them." the baron spoke. "I do this for my grandson. He´s the only family I have left."

And at those words not even Jérôme could argue anymore. All he did was nodding, silently, and promise him to send the letter, as soon as he got into the city. It was the last time the two men ever spoke.


	11. Shadows of the Past

**Shadows of the Past**

It was only a day into their stay at the Inn, and Valjean already felt restless. What were they doing here but waiting? His mind had not been able to get away from Cosette, no matter how hard he tried to focus on the situation. How was she holding up, what was she doing? Was she worried? Probably.

It didn´t help much, that Valjean understood why they had to be here, waiting as they did. He understood that they had to wait for the baron´s message, here, where he´d seen them last. And before they heard of him there was really nothing they could do. But damn, they did nothing. Nothing but sitting fat on their asses. It was frustrating.

And then, when the messenger entered the place, asking for a certain Monsieur Pineau, his heart stopped for a moment. Had they been discovered? Or had he lived the life of a fugitive for way too long, that he didn´t know any other way to react than this?

The innkeeper took the message and the man left. Valjean could tell that he was not interested in the place any longer. Still his guts felt awkward, watching him go.

"Monsieur." the innkeeper addressed him, and his gaze told Valjean clearly that he guessed something. Maybe not what was really going on, but definitely that something _was_ going on.

Valjean took the note from him, thanking him politely, and left to read it in private.

It was from the baron, all right. And the news even sounded encouraging, at least in a hesitant way. So far there was nothing new, but at least the note spoke of some hope, that there would be something soon. Surely not even Javert would be able to argue with that.

He found the ex police man outside, behind the house, sitting on a bench, a coffee in hand, and something sitting on the bench beside him that looked suspiciously like a bag of candy.

The ex culprit could not suppress his chuckle, seeing Javert chew so greedily, and earned himself a glare for it.

"Is that Marzipan?" he asked and Javert instinctively reached for the bag, closing it.

"Yes." he finished chewing the mouthful he had. Valjean raised a hand.

"I didn´t plan to take them away from you." he assured the inspector, and somehow Javert must have realized how his gesture looked. He let go of the bag, demonstratively. No jealousy about food here. Because that would be childish. Right?

"It´s good for the nerves." Javert grumbled, as if he needed to explain himself and Valjean smiled as he sat down, the bag between them on the bench.

"I see."

He knew the former inspector had been as restless as he´d been. Inactivity was nothing either of them was very contempt with. Only that Javert would deal with this stress by consuming sweets was in a startling way funny to watch. Valjean regarded the bag a little closer, curious now. The brand name read Niederegger.

"I think I know these." he found. "I bought them for Cosette once. It wasn´t her taste. They´re only made in Germany."

"And they get delivered to Paris, once each month." Javert affirmed, as if he knew more about this than Valjean. "They come through here first. The Innkeeper is related to the fabricant in Lübeck." he gave Valjean a blank gaze, answering his astonishment, and informed him: "I know that ever since I stayed here the first time." He rolled his eyes. "Some women talk more than you want to hear, even if you don´t encourage them." He took a sip from his coffee and somehow managed it to simultaneously shake his head. "Seriously. I only wanted to pay the damn stuff, not hear the whole goddamn family history. I got to hear it anyway."

Valjean´s smile grew. "And?" he asked. "Did you enjoy to converse with someone for a change?"

"I didn´t converse." Javert mocked his word. "I let her talk until she was finished. Like I always do."

"Must be the reason why you´re making friends wherever you go."

The glare he got was deadly. "Are you _trying_ to piss me off?" Javert rasped, and for some reason it made Valjean chuckle, amused, in a very good way. One he´d almost forgotten that it could exist. And so easily at that.

Javert only turned away from him, and downed the rest of his coffee, as if it were Cognac, taking a deep breath afterward, as if he waited for the caffeine to do its work. Eventually, after then caffeine had reached his brain, he turned back to Valjean.

"What do you have there?" he asked, gazing at his hands.

Valjean needed a moment to realize what he was talking about. He´d almost forgotten about the note.

"It´s from the baron." he handed it to Javert. "He found out about a man he wants to speak to." he summarized, even though Javert was reading it eagerly. "Maybe we´ll get some answers soon."

Javert´s eyes suddenly stopped moving over the letter, frozen on something that obviously didn´t mean anything good to him, judging by his pale expression.

"What?" Valjean tensed. "What is it?"

The former inspector closed his eyes. "If he really went to see _him_ …" he said. "He´s already dead by now."

"What?" Valjean felt cold, but the panic he felt did not seem to infect Javert.

"Dammit." he growled, quietly. He shook his head, in despair as it seemed. "You were right. I should have never let the old man go back alone."

"Who is this man?" Valjean wanted to know, needed to know.

"He commands the Serpaints Corail. Administrates the black list." Javert told him. "He´s the one who gives the orders … Who gave the orders to kill me and all the others."

Valjean felt cold all over again. The baron. He hadn´t known. He´d had no idea that he´d step right into the lion´s den. And now … Javert was right. He had to be dead. Of course they would have killed him right away, as soon as he showed up, asking questions like theirs. Valjean closed his eyes. Dear god, please forgive us.

"I need to go back." Javert decided, next to him, waking him up from his prayer. "I can´t just hide away here."

Valjean jumped up, to follow, as the former inspector obviously intended to jump on the next horse right away.

"If you go back you will be recognized." he cried, holding him back. And to his great surprise Javert turned to face him with no resistance.

"Not if you help me to hide." he spoke, totally blindsiding him. "You managed it to hide from me, all those years. Lived right under my nose, and I didn´t see you."

Valjean felt out of place, all the sudden. Did he really hear those words, and no accusation hidden underneath it?

"Do this again." Javert asked from him. "And this time do it for me. Show me how you did this. How you get invisible."

And for some reason that was beyond any conscious thought, Valjean found himself nodding, in absolute agreement. Yeah. Now finally he had his answer. This, and only this, was the reason why he was here.

**...**

The general sighed as he looked down on the man before him. So old and yet so dangerous. Gillenormand was unconscious. But not dead. Not yet. Because he hadn´t ordered it yet. But he would. Eventually he would.

Bourguignon turned around, and left the room. His man followed, a little bit startled about this sudden retrieve. He couldn´t understand anyway. He was not the one who had to give the orders. And it wasn´t even Gillenormand who gave him so much trouble. This man was a stranger to him. Despereaux on the other hand. He´d been a friend to him, back in the days when they had served their time in the army. Good old Jérôme. Reliable, under normal circumstances. They hadn´t had any contact in years. And now the first message he got from his old comrade was … this. He couldn´t let this go unanswered.

Sure, Jérôme had not known, or he wouldn´t have sent his friend to him. To his certain death. But still. It was an action that was too severe to ignore it.

"Sir." Moreau addressed him, and Bourguignon turned to face him. He only nodded, already knowing what his adjutant wanted to ask.

Jérôme was a viability. And as far as this mission was concerned, he could not allow his own personal feelings to endanger him or any of the others. They´d gone too far for this. A single life really didn´t mean much anymore. Not in this.

God, he had condemned men and women to die, for years. And all the sudden he felt regret to speak the sentence. But he had no choice. For all their sakes.

"I know this isn´t easy." Moreau offered some words of comfort. "But we have no choice. No single man is worth to risk our larger goal."

Bourguignon glared at him, silencing the man. Who did he think he was? Did he think Bourguignon didn´t know this himself?

The younger officer lowered his gaze, humbly.

" Jérôme Desperaux will pay for his interfering." he told Moreau. "But not yet."

"Sir?"

"You heard me. I have plans for him, before we take him out."  
Moreau stared at him, irritated for a moment. But eventually he nodded, obediently. "Of course, Monsieur." he halted again. "If I may … What about the baron?"

And Bourguignon thought, nodding at last. "He will be taken care of." he spoke and faced his inferior. "Go now. You have your orders."

And of course Moreau obeyed.

**...**

They needed a whole day back to Paris, to get unseen to Valjean´s old house. A whole day of driving beside a silent Javert, who wouldn´t talk much, even if Valjean tried to attempt a conversation. After a while he´d just given up. Whatever was preying on Javert´s mind, it wouldn´t come out if he pressed him. And was it that hard to understand anyway? They´d agreed to let the baron be their spy. And now he was dead. Because of them. Because they had been hiding, while another, much older man, had gone to face the dragon.

The carriage was too big to not to raise any attention, so leaving it on the street was impossible. Valjean had to hurry ahead, to open the gate to the garden, so Javert could swiftly steer it through the street and out of sight for everyone who might wonder about this big thing standing about in their street. Thanks God the walls around the garden were high.

But oh God, it was a strange feeling to be back here. And without Cosette. Not even Toussaint was here. She´d been dismissed from her duties, when they´d left the city, until further notice. And so the house seemed empty to Valjean, and like abandoned by all the children. Javert was there, but the former inspector did not seem to feel welcome or in the right place, so he wasn´t even a guest. Somehow even Valjean felt like a stranger now. As if he didn´t belong here anymore.

"Tomorrow, we will go into the city." Javert decided, out of the blue, maybe just to fill some of the awkward and pressing silence. "And try to find out what happened to the baron."

Valjean sighed, and didn´t know anything else to respond than a nod. It was strange. Too strange. He didn´t know what was before him, barely what was behind him. And even though he´d lived half his life like that, it was all new to him. As if he´d never been a fugitive before. But he _had_ been.

Javert got up from his seat, catching Valjean´s attention, as he walked over to the window, in utter silence. His posture was tensed, a heavy cloud of restlessness hanging over him. Frustration. Anger. All at once. His eyes didn´t meet Valjean´s but it was obvious that he was well aware of the eyes that lay on him, watching carefully.

"Look what became of me." he spoke at last, almost too quiet to hear, hadn´t the room been so deadly silent.

Valjean didn´t dare to speak, to give a response. He only kept watching, as the former inspector turned to face him, at last. As if he knew, that this conversation was something he couldn´t delay any longer. That at one point or another they would have to speak about it. And if he wouldn´t do it now, he´d burst from the inside out, from the pressure.

"Look at me." the angry chuckle that he gave, was only a tiny expression of the enormous tension that was still hidden underneath. "I became you." he rasped, and finally he laughed, bitterly. "24601." His eyes closed for a moment, like in a silent prayer. "We all become what we fear." It really sounded like a prayer, and without looking at Valjean again, he turned back to the window, as if there was something out there, to give him an answer to all the unspoken questions that tortured him. "I never wanted to go back there."

Valjean felt a stitch of something, at those words. Something he´d stored away, and now came back to him, to be remembered.

"You said that before." he recalled, getting up from his seat. "Javert. And what you said about your father …"

"Don´t talk to me about my father." the other man warned, and alone the look in his eyes, made Valjean stop in his steps.

Something was there, all the sudden. Something that hadn´t been there before. And from one moment to the other, Valjean began to understand. It seemed so clear all the sudden, that he wondered, not understanding at all, how he could have missed this all this time. But it was a dangerous ground he was walking here.

"_My_ father was a worker." he tried a different approach. "Or he tried." he shrugged. "Until the day he died."

Javert turned to him, frowning, probably wondering what the hell he tried to say with that. But Valjean ignored it.

"I was still a child." he kept telling him. "My mother was left with me and my sister, all alone. She died a year later, from the labor we put on her. My sister took care of me, for she was the older one. I still don´t know how she kept me alive till I was grown. I tried to repay her, by working as hard as I could. I was a pruner then, and all my sister had after her husband´s death. With seven children … her youngest son already close to death …"

Javert´s what the hell-gaze, changed for a moment, at those last words, in recognition. "The one you stole that bread for." he remembered, and Valjean halted, startled that this little fact had indeed not been forgotten by Javert.

"Yes." he nodded. "I don´t even know if he survived. Any of them. If they still live or if they´re dead. How would I know? While I was in prison … under your care." he attempted a joke, but Javert turned away from him. "I never knew." he went on. "I never heard of them again. I could have searched for them, all right. But what good would it do? To go back to this old life. When I had come so far. In sweat … and pain. And fear from discovery."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Javert at last looked back at him, as if his last words had hit him somehow. And Valjean just smiled.

"Whatever it is, you are ashamed of, Javert. It couldn´t shock me. Or make me turn away, disgusted. This is what you fear people would do, right?" He shook his head, shrugging, to show the other man that none of this mattered. Not to him. "Look at me." he said. "Look at what _I_ was."

But all Javert did, was laughing dryly, without looking back at him.

For a moment Valjean felt as if he´d made a mistake. Maybe approaching this subject had been wrong. Javert didn´t seem as if he wanted to work it out. At all. Whatever _it_ was. And then all the sudden, Valjean remembered something else. As if memories had chosen to come home to him, all at once, right in this moment, if he wanted it or not.

"This man …" he spoke. "Moreau. He said _they_ know. Your superiors. He said that´s the reason why they wanted you to take the blame. For crimes they would commit." And in this moment, hearing his own words, speaking it out loud, Valjean knew why. "Because …"

"Because the son of a convict is likely to commit a crime himself." Javert spoke it out, before he could, and turned around to face him straight. "Exactly." he snarled. "Are you happy now?"

Valjean flinched when the former inspector started moving, believing he would attack him now, for this violation of his privacy. But all Javert did was walking past him, down the room, as if he just couldn´t stand it anymore to be that close to him.

"This is what they believe." he spoke, not looking back at him. "And everyone else will believe it too. Especially with the proof they have. And this past of mine. My heritage." He sighed, heavily. "For years and years I have tried to forget. To let the world forget, about this gutter I grew up in. And now look at me." he finally turned back to him, arms spread. "I´ve fallen back into this darkness I came out of. Fell back to be the scum I was before."

Valjean had never believed it possible to feel that much of compassion for a man that had been his nightmare, his nemesis. And yet, seeing him now, so lost, and disgusted with himself, his appearance resembling a poor, not the police man he´d used to be, Valjean couldn´t help himself. His heart was not his own when it came to compassion like this. It had never been.

And oh, he did understand.

"You didn´t fall." he spoke, quietly. "Javert. You were pushed. By people who do not understand … that what you only see as scum … are some of God´s most cherished gems, only fallen to misfortune. Some of these gems …" he gestured at Javert, with an encouraging smile. "Manage it to rise again, and shine in glory." He pointed at himself as well, with a shrug. "Does that not tell you anything?"

But Javert´s gaze darkened. "I rose once." he rasped, nodding, and the blaze in his eyes was pure hate. "And I fell back. Blinded by a light, that shone from a darkness where there should not be a light. At all."

Valjean looked into those flashing eyes, and all the sudden he understood, what Javert had not spoken. Who he was speaking of.

He opened his mouth, unable to decide what he wanted to say, but Javert was faster.

"You murdered me, Valjean." he told him, way too quiet, but the meaning of his words went through Valjean´s heart like a knife. "The man you knew as Javert is dead. And for that, I will never forgive you. And I will always hate you."

The glare that was on him was devastating. Valjean did not know what to say. He felt like a murderer. Like the worst scum in the world, just by seeing the hate in those eyes. Not for him being a thief, or for being on the run all these years. But for something he had done to this man, personally, maybe without knowing it, but that didn´t change the facts. What he saw right there was real. And it stayed in those eyes, never decreasing, until the former inspector, Valjean´s old foe, could not stand it any longer, and marched out of the room.

It took a long time, before Valjean felt able to stir from the spot.

**...**

Bourguignon looked up as his adjutant entered the office, watching as Moreau clicked his heels almost viciously.

"What are your orders?" he asked, and Bourguignon held out a note and a letter for him.

The other man took both, uncertain.

"Let this be delivered to Desperaux." Bourguignon ordered. "The note reads that Jérôme shall deliver the letter to baron Gillenormand´s grandson."

Moreau glanced up at him, an asking brow raised. "Did he write that himself?"

Bourguignon only snorted. "In the end the old man´s hand wouldn´t have been steady enough. But fakers are good at what they do if you pay them enough. It will do, to convince Jérôme. His eyes have never been the best, even when he was young. He will have the address the baron protected so stubbornly and when he sends the letter on its way, I want you to follow the messenger. If we are lucky, this will lead us to the boy."

Moreau nodded, eagerly. But he didn´t leave yet.

"Anything else?" Bourguignon asked, but he already knew what Moreau wanted.

"I hope you forgive me, sir. But Despereaux. After he sent the letter … He´s of no further value for us. Or am I mistaken about this?"

Bourguignon sighed. "No. You´re not mistaken." He took another moment to harden his heart for the task he had to accomplish now, and eventually he nodded.

"Give the order." he said, and Moreau seemed satisfied. "Jérôme Despereaux must vanish. Quietly. After he sent the letter. You will take care of the boy. Let your men take care of Jérôme."

Before Moreau could leave, he called him back on last time though. "Tell them to make it quick." he ordered. "He shall not suffer."

Moreau looked at him, without a word, and nodded. Nothing more. The life of a man was forfeited.

**...**

It was the worst night ever. Even sleeping in this verminous bed at the stews had not been that hard. Because this here, was Valjean´s house, and he lay on a bed that was owned by the man he hated with all his heart. Just knowing that he was relying on him, more than he ever relied on anyone else in this world, made him sick. How could fate be that cruel? How could any of this been meant as this oh so godforsaken fate, Marianne had spoken of? What fate could this be? A test for his stamina? His inner strength to stand the greatest torture a human mind was capable to imagine?

Maybe he hadn´t been saved by Marianne after all. Maybe he´d fallen, and she had missed his hand, and what he believed to be his life now, was nothing but one of the nine circles of hell. Because this was what it felt like. Hell.

Finding sleep was impossible. Or so he thought. Until he woke at last in the morning, with the remains of some memories, of a dream he´d dreamed. A dream in which he´d been back at the pharmacy. Marianne had been there, and so had Valjean, sitting in a corner quietly, looking with eagle eyes, as if he´d been the one to lure in the shadows, waiting for Javert to show his face. As if Valjean had been _his_ shadow, all these years, not the other way around. And Marianne. She´d not talked to him either. She´d seemed busy, preparing something. Some medicine for her shop. Javert remembered seeing her, walking through the door … but that was about all he could remember.

God, he felt drained. The light that shone in through the window was sallow and it hurt his eyes. He could tell that it was a cool morning, probably foggy until the warmth of the sun would chase the chill away. There´d been a time when he´d enjoyed this kind of coolness in the early hours of the day. It almost made him sad to think of this, now that he despised the same fresh air. Where was the time, when things had been good in his life? When he´d known who he was, and where he belonged.

It didn´t help. Feeling sorry for himself would not accomplish anything, or solve any of his problems. So he got up, rolling out of this bed, he´d not wanted to be in anyway, and spotted a pitcher of water and a bowl with a towel, sitting on the bureau, where there hadn´t been anything last night.

For a moment, his heart leaped, in alarm. Valjean. But then he made himself calm down. He wasn´t in any danger here. Not physically at least. Mentally … this was a different matter. Hospitality from a source like that could drive a man crazy.

But it was as it was, and Javert didn´t have the time to wonder about these things. He washed, and dressed, again in this old rag that he had worn ever since they´d left Paris. No time to pack anything else to change into, and he would do hell and ask Valjean for something of his. He was supposed to stage as a beggar dammit. What beggar ran around with a wardrobe of casual change?

He went to the sitting room, ready to give Valjean a royal dressing down for his morning greeting, combined with some orders to finally get something done. But when he saw the man, his words died dry in his throat. The noble robes were gone, replaced by old rags similar to those Javert was wearing. The salt and pepper curls on Valjean´s head were gone too, shaved short and scrubby, and the usually so smooth face was dark with the shadow of a beard. If it hadn´t been for the man´s well-fed exterior, Javert would have believed to see the prisoner from all those years ago, somehow transported to this present day.

But the expression in his eyes was different than he remembered it from those days. Calmer. Wiser somehow. Knowing. No, this was not the past he was seeing. This was now. And it wasn´t a dream either. But surely it had to be a joke.

"What the hell are you doing?" he shouted at the man, unable to hide his irritation.

But all Valjean did, was looking at him, blankly.

"What?" he retorted. "You asked me to do this, remember? You wanted me to show you how to get invisible. Well, this is how it works." He picked up something, Javert could not identify and threw it. Javert caught it, and the cloth fell apart to a long, old bandage. "Wind that around your head." Valjean instructed him. "You were on a good way already, but you need to hide more of your face."

Javert narrowed his eyes, taking in once again, this oh so familiar appearance of the man before him.

"Do you feel homesick for Toulon?" he asked, aiming well, but his attempt to strike a nerve missed its target.

"I can hardly walk around with you, wearing fine clothes." Valjean reasoned, ignoring the comment. "I would look rather misplaced, now would I?"

Strike right back. One point for the ex prisoner. Javert suppressed a grumble. Unbelievable. Just unbelievable. Who did this man think he was? And even more unbelievable was, that he even did what he said. The bandage was awkward, but somehow he managed it to wind it around his head, without letting it look like a failed turban.

He hated it when Valjean regarded him, estimating. Judging how well he´d done. And he hated it even more that he was relieved when Valjean nodded.

"Try to bow a little." the older man advised him. "Like this." And he showed him the movement, of a man having trouble walking uptight, obviously expecting him to imitate it. As if Javert was a student of the world´s worst and most pitiful drama school. "Try it." he insisted.

"That´s ridiculous." Javert growled. "I´m not gonna play coy for your amusement."

Valjean gave up on his lesson, raising a brow, as if to say: All right all right, you old grumbler. And strange as it was, Javert almost imagined him saying those exact same words. Only he didn´t.

"So now Monsieur fugitive slash undercover expert." he spoke at last, forcing the conversation on, into a more productive direction. "Where do we go?"

But here Valjean shook his head. "This is my part." he spread his arms, indicating the disguises. "And I´ve done that. Now I´ll gladly follow your lead."

Javert only snorted. "We´ll see about that."


	12. Wounds so Deep they never Show

**Having gone through the second major change of appearance of a character, I posted a second picture for all of you who are interested. Once again, go to nureinname deviantart to see how Valjean and Javert look like at this point.**

**Other than that, just enjoy the next chapter.**

**Here we go.**

* * *

**Wounds so Deep they never Show**

When the letter came in, the innkeeper was not all that surprised. He´d known something was up with these people. After so many years of overhearing conversations on his tables, he´d learned to stay quiet and not to interfere with anything. You lived saver if you remained invisible to the guests. The old advice to every servant in this world did not exist for nothing. After the servant entered the room, it should be a little more empty.

But that didn´t mean the servant wasn´t there. And neither was the innkeeper. He´d heard the young people talk, that morning when they´d left. He´d heard what they had spoken, about the convent not far from here. And since he was no one to interfere with anyone else´s business, he sent the messenger on his way, to deliver the letter to the person it belonged to.

Neither he nor the messenger himself had any idea, that another person was watching from the shadows, waiting patiently to finally find the destination of said letter. And just now, it seemed, this destination was only one more step away.

**...**

The house was easy to find. Javert knew the address by heart. He´d never been there, but the place was well known, in one of the better parts of the city. He only hoped that their disguise would not give them away there, instead of hiding them. But he had to learn that people as pitiful as they looked right now, were truly everywhere. Even right under the nose of the rich.

It wasn´t that he hadn´t known that. Only had he never looked that close, and with this perspective. Somehow he felt strange to be in this place. As if he was no longer up there, able to look down. But merely a part of what was down here. A grain of sand, as unimportant and unnoticed as all the other thousands. And in this universe that was so foreign to him, as sunlight was to a grub that never saw the light of day, it was Valjean who stood by his side, guiding him through this darkness of the unknown.

The only thing in fact, that was not unknown to Javert, was the big carriage parked in front of the house, harnessed to it two noble black horses, patiently waiting for their masters to demand from them to move on. And the uniforms of course, posted to guard the vehicle.

Javert felt a stitch of pain, at their sight. This had been him once. These young faces, stony and proud of their position, despite the pathetic pay they got for their duty. Had he looked like that too? Back in the days? When he´d been young like they were? Not knowing how many varieties of tripping hazards life would hold for him?

He noticed Valjean´s gaze on him, and turned his own face to stone. What are you looking at, con? Nothing to be seen here.

The front door of the house opened, and the two of them hid, in the shadow of their corner. There he was. Henry Bourguignon. Javert knew him instantly, even though he´d never met the man in person. But his uniform was unique among his men, and even if it hadn´t been for that, his presence just gave him away, as the man in charge. This was a man who knew he held the life of others in his hand. Literally and figuratively.

They watched him enter his carriage, and drive away at last, to whatever duty he had to attempt somewhere else. If he was honest Javert didn´t even care. It was not the man he´d come here for. It was his house.

Getting inside was easy, now that the general was gone. The door opened willingly, after only a few swift turns of his lock pick, and they were inside. Unseen by anyone.

The general´s office was upstairs. The first room to search, reasonably. If they shouldn´t find what they needed here, there would be at least seven or more rooms to go for. Javert hoped it wouldn´t come that far.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Valjean asked, gazing about. "If he sent orders to execute people, they wouldn´t be here but with the people who got them."

Javert rolled his eyes, at this unnecessary conclusion of the other man. "Orders like that are never written down." he informed him. "They´re only given verbally."

"Then what _are_ we looking for?"

"Anything. Something that gives us a hint to who is pulling the strings behind all this. To who is giving the orders to Moreau and his men."

He went behind the big desk, going through the post and documents there, neatly stacked, ordered by importance and currency. He took care not to disarrange anything. If it was possible, no one should notice that someone had been here.

"Like this for example?" Valjean spoke, holding up a letter from the bureau that contained the same amount of stacks as the desk. He must have spotted it by pure chance. Javert frowned but took it.

"Dear Monsieur le Generale," he read it loud. "I know you´ve been pursued by Talbert and his affiliates, to execute some of your very special operations, and that they tried to make you believe that it was for the good of the country. But I hereby pursue you to step back from these orders, for it is a lie. Nothing good can come of these things, and a fair share of wealth can never pay off for the crimes that would be committed in their names. Not even Le …" he stopped, at the name that stood there. "Not even Lecomte could ensure such promises as these people have made." he went on. "It would be a minor win, at best, for it is shown by history that treats like this can never last long, and merely worsens things at best."

He didn´t read the rest. It contained only the usual formal greeting at the end of every letter a gentleman wrote to another. Meaningless. Nothing compared to what he´d read above. Javert felt his blood boiling at the ridiculousness of the words.

"What the hell is this guy talking about?" he burst out. "Lecomte? He´s supposed to be involved in this? That´s impossible."

"It … certainly seems so … according to this letter." Valjean seemed unsure, careful of Javert´s reaction. And wasn´t he right? This name in such a context. It was unthinkable. Almost as unthinkable as the idea of a highly respected inspector suddenly finding himself on the other side, hunted by his own men.

Javert looked at the letter again, at the address of the sender.

"Jacques Laffitte."

"The former financial secretary."

"I know who he is." Javert snapped, fuming, and Valjean was quiet. "And who´s this guy?" he pointed at the name. "Talbert?"  
Something about Valjean´s reaction told him that the name rang a distant bell.

"I know his name somewhere." he affirmed, frowning deeply as he tried to remember. But he failed, shaking his head, as if that would loosen the stuck memory somehow. "I … I can´t place him."

"Think harder man." Javert knew it was useless to blame him for his stubborn memory, but he couldn´t help it.

"I´m trying!" Valjean replied, insulted, and Javert forced his mind to calm down. There was no sense in trying to pursue someone because of his memory. Valjean was not a young man anymore, and Javert could tell that he wouldn´t remember, not now at least.

"I can´t believe it." he spoke, more to himself than to Valjean. "Lecomte couldn´t have done that."

"I know, he was your friend but …"

"This has nothing to do with what he was to me." Javert would not let him turn this into a sentimental talk. "He wouldn´t have the authority to give such an order. Not to Bourguignon."

For a moment Valjean was silent. But there was something in his eyes. Something that spoke of more.

"Maybe he did." he then said. "If he had the right arguments."

Javert frowned. What?

"Do you remember what Moreau said, when you questioned him?" Valjean recalled. "He said he didn´t do all this, only for the money. He called himself a patriot."

Javert remembered. Of course he remembered. But no. "That´s ridiculous. How could someone justify greed like this, with patriotism? This is clearly about nothing more than money."

He shook the letter in his hand, as if the gesture could shake the decadence of this whole affair out of it. And beside him Valjean suddenly smiled at him, irritating the heck out of him. What the hell was the matter with this man?

"Moreau was right, wasn´t he?" he said, and Javert was close to skip back in irritation. "They would have never convinced _you_ about this reasoning?"

Javert glared at him, getting more and more angry with each passing second. "You want to tell me that _you_ see the reasoning in this?" he cried. "Then tell me, 601." He didn´t get an answer. "Once a thief always a thief." the former inspector growled. "Of course, you´d understand them."

"You were the one who could justify murder with the land´s best interest. Not me." Valjean gave back, as if this was nothing to him. "Is it that hard for you to imagine that someone else justifies greed the same way?`"

"Yes, Valjean." Javert spoke through his teeth. "It is. Taking out dangerous people is a precaution. And has nothing to do with greed."

"What could make someone so dangerous that it justifies killings like that?"

"Knowledge. Influence. And power to do things, wrong things, that would lead to even worse events, fatal events. Just as this revolt at the barricades. Wouldn´t you rather have one man killed, if it had resulted in these revolts never happening? Over six hundreds of lives saved, by taking out one man?"

Valjean stared at him, pale at the suggestion, and swallowed uncomfortable.

"You could never know …" he brought out. "If that would have stopped it. You couldn´t know. Ever."

"It would be worth the try."

After Javert had spoken this, they stood in silence for a while, each of them overshadowed by his own desperate uncertainty. Until Valjean spoke up again.

"What do you think makes _you_ so dangerous for them now? What could you do, that´s so threatening for them that they have to take that chance?"

Javert eyed him, blindsided for a moment, by how close Valjean had hit to home with this question.

"I will take them to justice." he answered the question. "I´ll make them pay. … And Lecomte knows that."

He closed his eyes, finally accepting that indeed this was true. That the man he´d believed he must save … had been the one who wanted his death all along. The one who might have started this whole thing in the first place. The biggest criminal of them all. A murderer, by the act of a formal order, for he was probably too much of a coward to use his own hands.

"God, I´ve been so stupid." he exclaimed. "How could I not see it?"

And in this moment, something came back to him, from out of the blue, but exactly because of this, so much clearer now. His hand shot down, to his pocket, and brought out the drawing again. He needed to look for it, the scribbled words on the back suddenly seemed to avoid detection. But then he saw it. Just two words, meaningless back then. But oh so telling now. Devastatingly telling.

"It was him." he then knew, without any doubt. "Dear God."

"What?"

Javert looked up, into the face of the other man, and he felt as if all the blood had been drained from his stomach at this discovery.

"The second man." he spoke, hoarsely. "The one she never named. Gareaux said she knew something. Some_one_ who was involved." he closed his eyes for a moment, against the dizziness this reveal had brought with it. "She drew the one she didn´t know." Valjean still didn´t understand, so Javert showed it to him. The truth he´d finally found in Marianne´s notes. "Le Officer." he read it for him. "Lecomte´s nickname, from many years ago, when he started as a police man." Javert once again closed his eyes. "She knew him. And she knew him well." His hand clutched the paper as if it had an own will, to express its master´s feelings.

How did a poor pharmacist know a high ranking officer like Lecomte? There was only one way for her to have known him.

"But …" Valjean visibly tried to make heads or tails of this. "If Lecomte was the one of importance, she could have told Gareaux about him right away."

Javert shook his head. "She wanted to. As soon as her sister was safe. Only she never got a chance anymore." He met Valjean´s gaze again, and nodded. "You´re right. She would have named him. But this man …" he smoothed the paper again, regarding the drawing this time. "He´s important too. He´s the one she couldn´t name for Gareaux. That´s why she drew this."

He looked down on this drawing, and what had been like the last message of a brave fallen angel before, now felt like the proof of a lie, carved in stone, to mock him for all eternity.

"Some spy, indeed."

"Javert." Valjean took a step closer, one hand reaching out, just barely touching his arm, to comfort somehow. And Javert needed all his self control to not hit this hand away and shout at the man to leave him alone. That this was none of his business. Who did he think he was, to pride himself on knowing what was going on in Javert´s heart? There was no heart, nothing that needed his comfort.

"You …" he started but further he didn´t come. There was suddenly a noise outside, the sound of hooves on the plaster and the heavy wheels of a big carriage. Of course it was Bourguignon and his men they saw, exiting the fiacre, to enter the house again. As if it was an unwritten rule by now that things just couldn´t go without trouble in this affair.

"He must have forgotten something." Valjean gasped, and Javert cursed, under his breath. There were already footsteps outside, coming up the stairs. No chance of getting out again, unseen.

"I don´t assume you can make us truly invisible?" he rasped and of course the answer was no.

"I´m afraid not." Valjean´s eyes were fixed on the door, while Javert could only see the window, behind them.

"God, how often do I have to climb out of windows before this is over?" He opened it, not even finished speaking, but Valjean was not as eager to follow him this time.

"I can´t climb out." he objected, as if the mere idea was crazy. "Not with my shoulder."

"You can." Javert pushed him towards the window. "And you will if you want to live." He went back to the door, shoving the bureau before it, to block the entrance, just when someone tried to open it. The wood of the door collided with the bureau, and from outside there was a startled exclaim.

"What the …?"

"Go!" Javert cried, and finally Valjean moved.

He climbed into the window, rather clumsily with his sling hindering him, and he would have fallen any moment, to break at least three or more bones on the street, had not Javert grabbed his hand. For a moment Valjean hung on him like a bag of bones, a cry of pain escaping him at the unexpected jerk in his good shoulder. But then he looked up, and Javert saw that he was ready. He let go, and Valjean dropped, landing on the street, not like an artist, but at least good enough to not get injured any further.

People in the street cried out, disturbed by this scene of two men who obviously tried to rob this house. Behind Javert the door got knocked against the bureau harder, making it topple over at last. And down in the street, the one guard that had been left behind to watch the fiacre, stood over Valjean, a gun in hand, ready to use it.

"Don´t move." he ordered, and Valjean tensed.

"No!" Javert cried out, startling the guard. He flinched, not quite sure what to do with this old man that lay before him, and Javert climbed out, ready to jump. The pistol went up, aiming at him now. And Javert jumped.

The shot missed it´s target, but Javert didn´t. His feet hit the man somewhere between his shoulder and his chest, and knocked him down. After that Javert´s recollection of the fall was blurred. He remembered hitting the ground, somehow landing on Valjean, and both of their grunts of pain. A second later he must have rolled off the other man, instinctively struggling back to his feet. And so did Valjean.

The men at the window above their heads, were shouting at them, to stop, that they were arrested, and should surrender. God, Javert thought incoherently. Had he too shouted something as ridiculous as this, ever? In this moment, he just couldn´t remember. All he knew was that they were running – stumbling – away, as fast as they could.

**...**

Marius was restless. They both were. Ever since they had been left behind, like an expendable burden. Cosette tried to cheer him up, did her best to distract them both, he knew, but he also knew that her mind was with her father a lot. And how much she was worried. As much as he was worried about his grandfather. It hadn´t even been a week yet, but this uncertainty, the lack of updates, was unnerving. They simply didn´t know anything.

How would they know if anything happened to any of them? Who would tell them? Would anyone even know that they were here? The friend of his grandfather maybe. But maybe his grandfather had decided not to mention them, to make sure they´d be safe. It was impossible to tell. They simply couldn´t know. And considering this, how long should they wait here, until they would know, just know, that none of them would ever return? Before they would have to decide how to move on from here? And where to?

Too many questions. Too few answers. An impossible situation. Marius was used to take action. Not to sit down and wait. This convent drove him crazy. Hadn´t it been for Cosette he´d gone mad by now. And probably the other way around as well.

When the messenger suddenly approached him, Marius tensed, but only until the man told him he had a letter for him. At this he gladly payed him, and opened the letter eagerly, to read the news of his grandfather.

Cosette was with him immediately, looking over his shoulder. The problem was just, that there was nothing inside the letter. Only a white paper.

"What …" Marius mumbled, totally irritated. "This can´t be." He checked the backside of the letter, and the handwriting of his grandfather was right there, naming the old inn as the letter´s destination. The innkeeper had probably told the messenger where to find them. But there had to be something inside the letter. Why should his grandfather send an empty letter?

He met Cosette´s gaze, and there was something so deeply afraid in her eyes, that it caught up to him. Before he could voice his fears, another man approached them.

"Monsieur." he asked, politely. "May I have a word."

Marius frowned. "Who are you?"

"My name is Moreau. I work for the man that sent you this letter. You might have guessed by now that it wasn´t your grandfather."

It needed another moment for Marius to finally understand, and Cosette´s hand on his back, clutching the cloth of his jacket, to accept this truth.

"Where is he?" he demanded to know. "What have you done to him?"

"I´d be glad to show you." Moreau told him. "My carriage is waiting outside. So if you´d be so kind to just follow me. The both of you, of course."

Marius stepped aside, instinctively shielding Cosette. But the man before him only looked at him, with this cruel kindness.

"I advise you to be reasonable. I don´t intent on hurting any of you. But believe me. If you don´t leave me a choice, I will." When Marius didn´t make a move to obey his orders, he added: "Please, also consider these poor women here. The sisters surely don´t know any violence at all. Let´s just keep it that way. I would regret causing any of them pain."

"You wouldn´t." Cosette burst out at this outrageous threat. But the gaze of this man was unmoved by her shock. Marius could tell, that whatever this man said, he would do.

"Just come with me, quietly." he said. "And I won´t have to."

**...**

Valjean was still in pain, crying out at last when they finally reached the house and his shoulder only graced the frame of the door. Even Javert flinched at the sound. But he was not the focus on Valjean´s mind.

"We can´t stay here long." the life long fugitive spoke, through the pain. "They might have recognized us. Might have followed us." He took a moment, to breath, his head leaning back against the wall, before he added: "I have another apartment in la Rue de l´Homme Armé."

Javert snorted at this. "Of course you have." And it wasn´t before that, that Valjean remembered that he had already given him this address once. In a night that seemed to be a lifetime ago.

He was still not done thinking this thought, when suddenly Javert was at him, hands grabbing his coat, peeling away his clothing, and for a moment Valjean was just too startled to know what to make of this. The former inspector jerked, once, too harsh, and Valjean cried out, while Javert exposed the injury on his shoulder.

"Let me see this."

"It´s nothing." Valjean claimed, irritated by the mere fact that Javert payed attention to it. "It started bleeding again. It´ll heal again."

"Sure it will." Javert agreed, after having examined it. He didn´t look up at Valjean. "Still it could need a new bandage."

And as if this had made the big difference Valjean relaxed a bit. "Thanks for aiding me." he said, in turn making Javert uncomfortable now.

"You really are a millstone around my neck." the ex police man grumbled, and Valjean laughed. Just a moment, until the straining made his wound hurt again.

Javert sat him down, and Valjean allowed it, instantly starting to take off his old bandage, while the other man left the room. The cloth stuck to the wound, thick with half dried blood, and Valjean hissed in pain as he had to practically skin it off his shoulder. Javert was right. It desperately needed to be changed.

Before he knew what had happened, there was a bowl of water beside him, a cloth in it, for him to clean his wound, and Javert was gone once again, probably to fetch the next necessary item for this treatment. It didn´t seem to give him any trouble to find everything he needed in Valjean´s household.

After Valjean was done cleaning his injury, the former inspector went to work, renewing the bandage, without a word. His efficiency was methodical, determined, almost mechanical. As if focusing on a task like this helped him to get over something else. Something that if he´d allowed his mind to circle around it, would have given him much more trouble than a simple flesh wound on the shoulder of his longest opponent.

Valjean watched his face, so stony and concentrated, while he wound the bandages around his shoulder. And somehow Valjean could not help himself. He needed to speak it out.

"This woman … Marianne." he began, and the little flinch in the other man´s face was so tiny, it was almost not there. Almost. "What was she to you?" he asked.

Javert didn´t look up. "Why do you ask?" he sounded annoyed.

"Your reaction." Valjean explained. "To this … discovery … that she was a spy."

"I knew she´d been a spy ever since Gareaux told me." Javert objected, but Valjean knew better.

"But not like this. This was personal."

When the blue eyes of the former inspector finally met his, they were defiant. "I knew her for only a day." Javert told him. "And then she was dead. There´s nothing personal here."

Valjean shook his head, sadly. "She saved your life."

"Who knows for what reasons." Javert washed his hands in the bowl of water, as if this talk was totally beside the point. "I knew nothing about her. She made me believe I did but … I didn´t. She was a liar just like all the others."

"All the others?"

"People, Valjean. Everyone. Raise your hand if you never told a lie."

Startled about this remark, Valjean saw the other man smirk, a mean gleam in his eyes. "Exactly. Everyone lies. I´ve never met a man or a woman, who was honest. I should have known she wouldn´t be different."

As the man stood up, finished at last with his work on Valjean´s wound, he looked as if he was in pain himself. Not physically maybe. But still.

"It must be really hard for you to trust anyone." Valjean remarked, and got a sharp glare for it.

"Look who´s talking." Javert rasped. "24601."

Valjean did not falter. "You´re right." he admitted, having no reason to deny it. "I could never trust anyone. Not even with my name. I´ve lived a life in shadows. In order to live at all. It´s been … in another life, as it seems to me, that I could be myself. The one I was born at." And as he spoke these things, he suddenly realized something, for the very first time. "I believe … you are the first and only one who ever called me by my real name in years."

Their gazes met, yet again.

"You are the only one who really knows who I am."

And somehow, while he was speaking, Valjean was hearing himself say those words, as if they came from someone else, revealing a truth to him, he wouldn´t have guessed in his wildest dreams. He lowered his gaze, thinking, understanding at last.

"In some way … you chasing me, kept Jean Valjean from being forgotten. From being left behind to die as the mere shadow of a memory." His breath was shaking, when he sighed, so deeply. "Dear God." he exclaimed. "I have died so many times by now. Was reborn just as often. I don´t know how much I still am the man I once was. A beggar in the street, a desperate thief, a prisoner … A fugitive until today."

He heard a sigh from Javert, but coming from deep within the other man´s throat. A sigh of annoyance, not of empathy.

"What do you want to hear, Valjean?" he asked, opening his eyes to him, scowling, and his voice wasn´t so even either. "You want my pity? All right, you can have it. Take it and leave me in peace. You´ve taken everything else from me, so why not this too?"

Valjean was dumbfounded. He didn´t understand. "I never took anything from you."

But the glare he received was so full of hate. "Don´t you dare to mock me now, Valjean. Don´t you dare."

Valjean got up, from his seat, holding his arm against the pain.

"Whatever you think I did to you, please, tell me." he asked the other man. "Just let me know how I can make it up to you. I never intended you to …"

Javert took a sudden step back, as if Valjean had threatened him with something, his gaze aware, haunted, and alone this was enough to make Valjean stop in his tracks.

"I said leave me." his voice was dangerously low.

Valjean was so startled that this time _he_ took a step back, without even wanting it. "I´m sorry, Javert." he brought out. "I didn´t mean to …"

"Good. See that it doesn´t happen again." And with that he walked past him, out of the room. "We need to leave." he repeated before the door was closed. "For this other apartment of yours. So get ready."


	13. Facades

**Facades**

When the carriage entered the city through the big gates, it felt as if they got delivered to their judge, who would sentence them to death. Cosette had no idea how she knew that a man felt like this when he was on a death row. Maybe it was just her dark thoughts telling her that this was what it had to feel like. Maybe for real it wasn´t that bad. Maybe for real it was worse. She didn´t know. Couldn´t know. And if she´d had a choice she wouldn´t even let her thoughts go into that direction. Thinking about death like that, when Marius was sitting right next to her.

But wouldn´t that be kind of classical romantic? If they went to death together, so briefly after they had found each other? The tragic love that could only exist in death? Like Romeo and Juliet? Only it wasn´t their families who drove them to this fate. It was soldiers. Murderers. Cruel and heartless police men like Javert.

She closed her eyes, praying that her Papa was safe, wherever he was. That he would know Javert´s true colors before it was too late. That he would escape him, and come at last, to save her and Marius. Please, Papa. I need you. Please, where are you?

The carriage stopped, and Cosette felt the urgent hand of her love, grabbing her wrist.

"Cosette!" Marius breathed, shaking her hand. "Cosette, look."

And she did. Through the window she could see the street, blocked by a crowd of people, and police men who obviously kept them in line, as if there was a new borderline here, that wasn´t allowed to be crossed. And for a moment Cosette had a strange feeling of Dejavu. As if she´d lived through this moment once already.

"What happened here?" she asked, just as their capturer got up from his seat, to leave the carriage at last.

Moreau at last took down his gun, and hid it, underneath his coat. "You stay calm, and no one will get hurt." he growled at them, reaching for the door.

Marius lay his arm around Cosette, protectively, but didn´t say a word. Together they watched him step out into the street, to see what was going on.

"Phillipe." he called his driver. "What´s the matter? Why don´t we just drive around this?"

"Look behind." was the answer and when Moreau did, Cosette and Marius craned their necks to peek out of the window.

The street behind them was crowded just as much. No way for the carriage to turn. Moreau cursed. His gaze met Cosette´s for a moment, but obviously he dismissed his two hostages, in favor of looking about, for a better chance to get out of this mess. And that was the moment Cosette felt it.

It came right from Marius, as if their minds were combined in one. His hand grabbed hers a little tighter, and that was all it took. She knew, instantly, what he would do. And even though she still had this strange out of body feeling, as if she knew this situation, another part of her was ready to follow him, whatever would happen.

"Try to break out sideways." Moreau ordered his driver. "They will skip back."

He turned back to the door, hand reaching out to open it. And Marius moved. He kicked against the door, smashing it into Moreau´s face, and the man stumbled back, grunting surprised. Cosette didn´t think. She simply followed, as Marius jumped out, holding his shoulder against the pain. He took only a moment to bow down to Moreau, and for a moment Cosette had the strange idea of him trying to check if he was all right. Was he mad? But then she saw him reach under the man´s coat, retrieving his gun. When Moreau tried to grab him, he knocked the weapon into his face.

Cosette glanced at the driver, crying in her mind, for Marius to hurry up. And then he took her hand, and they just ran. She could hear the driver, behind them, having spotted them at last.

"Hey!" he shouted and as they ran down the street, past all these people, Cosette suddenly felt that this was wrong. The whole setting of this moment was false. It was bright daylight but it should be night. They were surrounded by dozens of people, but the street should be abandoned. Nothing of this was right. And yet she had no idea why. And neither did she know why she expected someone to yell a strange meaningless row of numbers after her. But she knew one thing. The voice that once had shouted those numbers was evil. And if anyone would find them, and drag them back, to be punished for this attempted escape, it would be the owner of this voice.

But no one came.

**...**

When the two men left the house, it was in a hurry. Not that anyone would have noticed that. They walked in a normal pace and were dressed casually enough to pass as normal citizens. The old rags they had worn before were left behind, dropped where they had taken them off, in Valjean´s case along with some very bloody bandages. None of them had taken their time to pack the remains away, for none of them knew if they´d ever even return to this place.

Now they wore fine clothing again. Nothing fancy but clean and proper. The two beggars had become two gentlemen again, if one overlooked the beards and hats, hiding most of their faces.

"We can´t take the carriage, or the horses with us." Javert had decided, very reasonably. "Both draw too much attention. We´ll take a cab to get to your place."

And Valjean had agreed. The horses were free, to graze in the garden, so they would be all right. And other than that they couldn´t afford to care about the animals any more. Now it was about their own lives. The whole way through the city, Javert seemed to watch the street out of the window, almost paranoid. And his demeanor made Valjean nervous. Because if Javert was paranoid, didn´t he have any reason to be too?

A few streets from the address they let the cab drop them off, to walk the rest of the way. Just in case someone should find this cabman and ask him about the two men he drove to a certain address. And still Javert wouldn´t let his eyes rest, but wander around, all the time. As if he was looking for something.

"How far is it?" he asked at some point and Valjean gestured with his head.

"Just another corner."

Javert nodded, and urged him sideways, towards an alley. "Let´s take a shortcut." he said and with that the two men vanished in the narrow way between two houses.

A man, not much more than a passerby fastened his steps when he saw this, hurrying to not to lose them. As he peeked into the allay, he saw the shape of one of them, just passing the corner on the other end, and he had to speed up yet again. He mustn´t lose them. His mission depended on it. The orders had been clear. If he didn´t find out where they´d hide, he could have spared to follow them in the first place. For this was the only reason why he was here.

His steps echoed in the narrow allay, as he hurried to its end. He sped up once again. His targets would be too far ahead already. He dodged the corner, and saw Valjean´s face, too close, only a moment before he saw his hand. And then he only saw bright stars, exploding before his eyes.

He stumbled back, the pain in his nose just reached his conscious mind, realizing what had happened. And then someone was in his back, an arm around his neck, choking him. His struggles were useless. The air was cut off, and the arm pressing against his throat uncompromising. Slowly but with no way to avoid it, his world faded into black.

**...**

"What have you done?" Valjean cried. "You killed him."

"Don´t be ridiculous." Javert breathed, dropping the unconscious man to the ground. "Come on now, help me. We need to bring him to your place before he wakes up."

And in his total lack of any other option, Valjean obeyed, slinging the arm of the man around his shoulder, just like Javert did, and together they carried their unexpected hostage down the street, like two men simply helping their drunken friend to get home from the tavern.

**...**

It was the least to say that Cosette was surprised to find two horses grazing in their garden, the carriage they had once been harnessed to, parked at the far wall just before the window of her room. The carriage Marius grandfather had left them. The carriage her Papa had no doubt taken to come back here, to Paris.  
Only he wasn´t there. The house was abandoned. Eerily silent. And then the shock when she entered the sitting room. It looked as if a fight had happened here. Clothes lay thrown around, carelessly, and old torn sheets, soaked with blood. Oh God.

"No." she breathed. "Papa." She hurried to this bunch of rags, as if it was her Papa himself, and stopped dead just before it, unable to decide what to do. "Oh dear God, what has he done to him?"

Marius, who had taken her shoulders, to calm her down, frowned at her, startled.

"He?"

But all Cosette saw was the blood. She barely heard Marius, barely even felt his gentle touch.

"I knew we couldn´t trust him." she cried, tears stinging her eyes. "Oh God, if he did harm him in any way …"

And at last she accepted the comfort Marius´ presence offered, and threw herself into his embrace. An uncertain arm folded around her shoulders.

"Are you talking about the inspector?" he asked, as if he truly didn`t know.

She looked up at him, shocked. "How can you not …?" she stammered. "You see what I see."

His eyes fell down, to the bloody rags, and his eyes were full of compassion. But still … he frowned.

"Why do you think the inspector did this?" he asked. "He was trying to help him."

Cosette was struck, to the bone. Hearing those words, so blind and unknowing from the man she loved, was like a slap across the face. How could he not see? How?

"How can you be so blind? He always hated him. He …"

But here she couldn´t finish. Something held her back. Years of teaching, to be quiet, never to talk about these things, not even to think about it. Oh her mind was raging, something deep inside her, something that had always tried to break through, to be seen, to hear and learn of a truth she´d never been allowed to know. Now the truth was staring her right into her face. From the ground at her feet. The blood. Oh God, the blood. And it was all his fault.

Marius only looked at her, so dumbfounded, unknowing.

"Cosette, what are you talking about?"

But she couldn´t say. Mustn´t. He´d forbidden it. Never. Never was she to ask him. About the past. About him.

"I always knew he hid from me." she spoke, not able to hold it back. "What once has been, before I could remember. But this man … Javert." she shook her head, in deep anger. "He knew my father from a long time ago. I don´t know what happened between them, that he hated him so much. But my father always feared him. Always warned me from him." She looked at Marius, and there was an expression of such pity in his eyes, she could barely stand it. It broke her heart. "This is why I don´t understand." she felt the tears swell in her eyes again, her voice choked. "How he could give him his trust now." The tears fell. "How, Marius? How could he do this?"

But Marius only shook his head. He had no answer, except: "Maybe he didn´t think he´d had any other choice. Maybe he was trying to protect you."

And those words were like a dagger into her already broken heart.

"He´s the one that needed protection." she choked. "And now it might be too late for that." She shook her head, trying to fight back the tears that were already falling. "Oh God, if he has hurt him …"

When Marius pulled her into his arms, she didn´t fight. She just let him hold her, giving up at last, and just cried.

"Shhhh Cosette." he gently stroke her hair, her back, her shaking shoulders. "We will find him. And warn him. Everything will be all right. I promise."

But she knew he couldn´t promise this. Not even he could. Her Papa was alone out there, on his own against this devil in human form. Maybe he was already dead by now. How would she know? How?

And that was the moment, when someone broke the door, suddenly and like a berserker they stormed into the house. The house that had been her home for many years. And all Cosette could see was their uniforms. Uniforms like his. Police men. Like him.

"Freeze!" one of them yelled, and Marius pushed Cosette away, towards the back door.

"Cosette run!"

And with that he threw himself at the men, pushing the gun upwards, releasing the shot into the ceiling.

"No."

Cosette wanted to help him. To drag him with her, to safety. But the other men found her, and they would not wait for Marius to be done with the man he struggled with. They were coming. To get her. To throw her into the darkness. To bring her to _him_.

And in this moment, all of Cosette´s conscious thoughts were wiped out, and she reacted on pure instinct. She bolted, for the door, her heart beating in her chest, into her throat. Her whole mind was swirling with fear. She heard a man shout after her, to stop or he would shoot.

But she couldn´t stop. Not ever. Because _he_ had come to get her. Oh God she could feel his hot breath in her neck. And her Papa. Oh God, her Papa. He wasn´t here. She was alone. And _he_ had found her at last.

"Stop!" the man behind her roared again. The gate was just ahead of her, just across the garden. And then there was a shot.

An agonizing scream echoed through the neighborhood.

**...**

The water that splashed into his face was cold and and cruel, forcing him out of his sleep violently. Gysbert didn´t like coldness at all, and especially when the skin on his face was warm from the sleep. His heart started pounding in his chest, and he gasped, in shock. What the …?

"Ah, there he is." a deep voice spoke, and Gysbert faced the man that once had been a respected police officer. Now he looked like a criminal. A criminal that indeed, had him, Gysbert in his grasp. Figuratively.

"Welcome back, Monsieur." Javert spoke, putting away the cup he´d used to wake Gysbert so roughly. And that was the moment when Gysbert noticed that he couldn´t move his arms. Or legs for that matter. He was bound to a chair. God dammit. This shouldn´t have happened.

"So now …" Javert leaned forward. "You will answer some of my questions."

Gysbert looked about, haunted, for a moment. The other man was there too, watching from the background.

"Whoever you think I am, I am not." Gysbert told them both, but of course they didn´t believe him.

"I know you work for Lecomte, so don´t try to fool me." Javert said. "Just answer my questions and this might be not as unpleasant for you as it could be."

Gysbert glared at this man, not giving a response. Everything he could have said right now would have been wrong, and he knew it. Better not say anything. At all.

"What were Lecomte´s orders to you?" Javert demanded, and Gysbert kept glaring. "Did he order you to kill us or just to spy on us? And when does he expect you to report back to him?"

"I´m not working for Lecomte." the words were out, before Gysbert could stop himself. But seriously, what a stupid question was that?

Of course Javert did not see it that way. "What is he up to?" he just kept asking. "Are there any more people he plans on killing?"

"You´re wrong." Gysbert tore on his bonds. "Release me, or I swear to you, you will regret it."

But all he got for this threat was a smile, as if the inspector laughed at him. _You_ want to threaten _me_, his gaze seemed to ask, and Gysbert once again got reminded unpleasantly on the ropes holding him. Dammit why did he not see this coming? When they´d entered that alley he should have guessed something. He should have …

"Who else is involved in this?" Javert demanded. "I know he´s not the only one. Who else?"

"I´m not allowed to tell you these things."

At this Javert seriously laughed out. "Did you just hear that?" he asked his partner in crime, not even looking at him. "Well, that´s a bummer. You are not allowed to tell me this. Tell you what, man. I won´t allow you not to tell me." And from out of nowhere he held a knife in his hand, pointing it at Gysbert´s chin.

"Javert." the less violent man in the room exclaimed, alarmed, but got ignored.

"Who else is involved?" Javert demanded, eyes fixed on Gysbert´s.

And when Gysbert only glared at him, Javert moved, to punish his stubbornness. But it wasn´t the knife that came at him. Instead he got the fist of the man into his chest, and for a moment, that felt like eternity, Gysbert was in a total loss for air. As if his lungs had ceased function. He barely heard the second cry of: "Javert!"

"Stay out of this." the ex police man ordered, his eyes never leaving Gysbert. And finally Gysbert managed it to take in another breath, his own gasp hurting his chest and throat. "I want an answer." Javert demanded.

But Gysbert was not that easy to break.

Javert shook his head, fuming. "You really seem to want this." he growled, and Gysbert bit his lip, preparing for the next punch. Which came promptly. Javert´s anger seemed to increase with each fist he smacked into his face.

"I want an answer!" he shouted and that was the moment when he got dragged back.

"JAVERT!"

But Javert only swirled around, pushing his partner back. "I told you to stay out of this." he snarled.

"And I told you to stop." was the fearless respond.

For a moment Gysbert was allowed to catch a break, as Javert´s attention was diverted. He laughed at the other man´s words.

"You don´t have anything to tell me." he growled, eyes hard as stone. "This is a fair warning. Stay out of my way."

But the other man shook his head. "I saw you do this once." he said. "I will not stand by and let you do this a second time."

Gysbert felt a wave of cold fear wash over him, when Javert´s only response was: "Then leave the room."

"No." the other man did not waver.

"Then I hope you´re ready to watch."

Javert simply turned back to Gysbert, ready to pick up where he´d been interrupted. And Gysbert tensed. But before Javert could attempt to continue his interrogation, a hand grabbed his shoulder, from behind. Only it didn´t work. The inspector was too determined to torture his hostage, and his attack way too fast and too violent, for the other man to fend it.

He fell, pushed back with the force of a predator that defended his prey, and landed in the corner, a very angry Javert looming over him. He still had the knife in his hand.

"I told you to stay out of this." he growled, dangerously low, and his fingers were iron around the handle of the knife. "If you don´t want to get injured even more, stay out of my way."

Their gazes for each other were so full of hate and anger, that Gysbert seriously doubted to get out of this alive. If even they were ready to slash each other´s throats … Maybe this time he had burned the candle at both ends, when he´d accepted this task. Following two men who had nothing to lose. What did he expect to find?

Eventually Javert dismissed his unreliable partner and turned back to Gysbert, the rage now pure in his eyes.

"And now I want an answer." he rasped, still clutching the knife. "How do I find Lecomte? TELL ME!"

But Gysbert couldn´t. Mustn´t. He had his orders, never to tell. And there was too much at stake for him to forget this order. Even if it meant that he had to bleed for this. Literally. So when Javert´s eyes flashed with rage, ready to kill, all Gysbert could do was keep up the stubborn facade, and shake his head.

Javert nodded, his gaze burning like that of a mad man.

"I´ll make you talk." he promised and finally he raised the knife.

Gysbert clutched the armrests he was bound to, tensing, expecting the pain, that would come any second. But then his eyes caught something behind Javert. An unexpected movement, that seemed to come from out of nowhere.

He´d almost forgotten Valjean, even though it had been only a minute since Javert had pushed him down. And now that he was back, swinging this club at the mad man with the knife, Gysbert counted all his lucky stars for the man´s gentle heart. A heart that even made him turn against his own partner, to save the skin of a possible enemy.

The strike hit Javert unprepared, and the club was too heavy to miss its purpose. Javert went to his knees, grunting, but still far from being knocked out. He´d lost the knife, and instantly reached for it. A mistake. Had he left it where it was he might have seen the foot that was aimed at his face. He might have been able to dodge this kick. But he didn´t.

One kick was enough, and the former inspector Javert lay on the ground, unconscious. Gysbert´s sensitive skin was safe, at least for the time being.

Valjean was panting, the club still in his hands, as he looked down on the other man. As if he expected Javert to jump up and attack again, even now. But he didn´t. He´d knocked him out just fine, Gysbert could tell. And as if Valjean had heard that, his eyes darted to him, glaring not much friendlier than Javert had been glaring at him.

Gysbert didn´t dare to speak. Not just yet. He didn´t know what the other man would do. He might have saved his life for now, but he was still dangerous. He was still a fugitive on the run, and Gysbert was a threat, that could lead to discovery. Something no man on the run would ever ignore if he was smart. And Valjean was smart. And he was dangerous. The gaze that currently lay on Gysbert was that of a cornered animal.

Eventually the club fell to the ground, almost careless, as if the man that had used it to smack his partner over the head only a minute ago, did not want to have anything to do with it anymore. He groaned, holding his injured shoulder, but that was all Gysbert heard of his voice. He didn´t address him, didn´t speak a word. He only walked past him, to the window, and leaned against the frame, looking out, as if lost in thought. As if he wasn´t sure what to do, now that Javert was out. Was he serious?

"He won´t be out forever." Gysbert cried. "You need to release me."

But all he got was a dry laughter. "I shall release you?" his savior asked. "So you can finish your mission and kill us both?"

"My orders were not to kill you."

Gysbert took a moment to consider if it was a violation of his order to reveal that. But what else could he do? He´d gotten a chance. And if he didn´t take advantage of this now, winning this man´s trust, he´d be an idiot.

"Then what were your orders?" was the reluctant response, and from here Gysbert really didn´t have much of a choice anymore.

"I was just to find out where you´d go and hide." he told the man, hoping that this would be enough. "We need to keep an eye on you."

And the other man seemed to understand. "You told the truth, didn´t you?" he stepped forward. "You really don´t work for Lecomte?"

Gysbert sighed, but shook his head, affirmative.

"Who do you work for?"

"I can´t tell."

And once again he got rewarded with a laugh.

"I´m afraid you´ll have to." Valjean said. "Or I won´t be able to help you a second time when he wakes up."

"He will be as mad at you when he wakes up."

"Sure. But that´s something I can handle. He won´t hurt me. He needs me and he knows that. You on the other hand … you didn´t give me any reason to trust you."

"I´m not your enemy."

"Prove it to me."

"I know you were a convict just like me." Gysbert immediately took the challenge, not able to help himself. "Valjean."

The name caused a reaction of shock, and Gysbert would have lied if he´d claimed he didn´t enjoy this. It was the part of him that couldn´t help but seek out the situations that would most likely get him killed. Giving a wanted man like Valjean a reason to kill him, was only one example for this. And Gysbert knew this. He knew and he still couldn´t help it.

Valjean´s gaze hardened, as he stepped towards him. "How do you know my name?" he demanded.

"I know even more about you." Gysbert informed him, giving up the facade at last. It was no use anyway. Not after what just happened. "The man I work for knows you." he told Valjean.

"Who knows me?"

This question at last, as urgent as it had been spoken, made Gysbert halt again. Made him think again, and reconsider. This was not only about him. If he revealed the name, he´d endanger his commander too. And all the others. Did he have the right to even consider that?

On the floor Javert started to groan, stirring again, waking up. Valjean looked down on him, but he didn´t do anything. He really didn´t seem to have any intention on stopping Javert again, when he woke up.

His gaze was clear when he looked at Gysbert again. Last chance, it said. I won´t help you a second time.

And somehow Gysbert knew that this was true.

"He was in prison with you." he told Valjean. "Only for a few months but still. I doubt that you´ll remember him. But he remembers you."

Again Valjean stepped closer, looking down on him, demanding. "Who?"

Gysbert sighed, praying that he did the right thing. He said: "His name´s Vidocq."

And at this name, Valjean suddenly halted, frowning. The name rang a bell, Gysbert could tell. Only he didn´t know which one. His frown was that of a man, that wasn´t entirely sure, where he´d heard the name before. And in his failure to remember, the ex prisoner turned around, to look at the man that once had been his warden.

It was not before this moment, that Gysbert noticed that Javert was already wide awake by now. He knelt on the floor, not groggy as one would expect it from a man that just came back around after being knocked out. Not a bit disoriented. Instead his eyes were clear, and just as startled as Valjean´s. He stared at Gysbert, as if to ask: Is this supposed to be a joke?


End file.
